


The Dirge of Blackwater House

by imgoddamnpluckyremember



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Gothic, Horror, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 29,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgoddamnpluckyremember/pseuds/imgoddamnpluckyremember
Summary: The year is 1889.Blissful newlyweds Evanelle and Arthur Hill are happy. Arthur is on his way to a successful career with the bank while Evanelle spends her days creating the home they share. When Evanelle begins to fall ill, her former schoolmate and best friend, Alice, arrives to take her away to the seaside to rest and recover from illness. What begins as a relaxing retreat quickly turns to an unnerving nightmare; Evanelle and Alice are not alone at Blackwater House.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Part One

**EVANELLE**

My eyes scanned the pale, grey shoreline looking for the plum colored silk on the horizon, desperate to wake up from the nightmare I had, for some time, been inhabiting. Desperate to silence the echo of a horrified scream in my ears. Something in my chest pulled with the ruffle of the tide, in and out from the shore. Like a siren: _come, come_ , it sang.

“Come away from the window, my love, you’ll catch a chill,” Arthur insisted.

How long had I been staring out at the sea? How long now had we—I—been at Blackwater House?

It _was_ cold, but I didn’t mind. Didn’t feel it, really. Not until his warm hand cupped my shoulder and startled me. I choked and coughed on my own surprised gasp, feeling the ache deep in my bones as Arthur reached for my shawl and draped it over me.

“Come sit with me by the fire,” whispered Arthur, cradling me close to his chest. The heat of his body made me cognizant of the ache in my limbs; the fatigue of staying upright was instantly overwhelming. I had thoroughly forgotten what it felt like to be well by that time, and was both deeply afraid and resigned of the inevitable and imminent death I was certain awaited. I collapsed as gracefully as I could into the chair across from my husband, but I could not look him in the eye.

“What were you dreaming of over there?” he asked, reaching for the teapot. He smiled in his charming way, perhaps an encouragement. It was too soon to grow apart, and he loved me enough to try. I know now that I was fortunate to have him, for he just as easily could have been a careless husband.

And briefly, I was seized by the desire to try to be amiable. But hadn’t I vowed to be an honest wife?

“Ghosts,” I murmured, after a moment of thought. I watched him add the sugar and cream to my tea and felt my insides curdle. There was a time I liked it that way, but not any longer.

He sat back with his own cup and saucer balanced on his knee. “You look tired, darling. Perhaps you ought to go upstairs to bed for a while? Have a rest?”

“I want to go to the sea.” The thought manifested faster than I could stop it.

“Of course,” he smiled. “Of course we can. In a couple of days when you're a little stro—“

“Today. I want to go to the sea _today_.”

His smile fell. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. The doctor said you need rest.”

“I’ll feel better when I go to the sea,” I insisted, wandering back away to the window. “I need to go to the sea, Arthur.”

“Evie, please listen to me—”

“Listen to _me_ ,” I begged.

Arthur’s eyes met mine, possessed by pain and longing. He’d been trying so diligently for months. To make me well. To lift my spirits and mend my irrevocably broken heart. I wanted to let his efforts be enough, but the pain was much too great. His brow furrowed, “I don’t understand why you would even want to go, Evanelle. After everything that’s happened.”

My head felt dense and wild all at once. Just as unhinged as the tumultuous tide. “I can’t explain it!” I cried, the passion overtaking me. Exhaustion made me prone to hysterics such as these. Mustering up rationality, I began anew. “I just know I need to go to the sea. I _feel_ it.” The lump grew in my throat again. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My fingers—which no longer felt like mine—found the pendant at my throat.

He sighed and returned his teacup to the side table. “We’ll go tomorrow.” The chair creaked as he stood again and the log in the fire popped as he approached. I was angry, but the strength to show it left me long ago. Still, sensing my disappointment, he squeezed my hand. “I _promise_ we will go tomorrow. But today you need to rest. Mildred?” he glanced over my head. “Please help Evie up to bed.” He kissed my forehead and gave my hand another squeeze.

“No matter what,” I told him. “We will go _tomorrow_. You promised.”

“Cross my heart,” Arthur said.

I let Mildred drag me off, stopping halfway up the grand staircase to catch my breath. I hated to be upstairs alone. She held the vial of camphor under my nose and waited as a coughing fit seized me. “That’s right, clear it out of your lungs,” she murmured until it subsided and I could breathe once more. “Up to bed, Ma’am,” Mildred said, rubbing my back as I pressed a handkerchief to the corner of my mouth. No blood, thank goodness. I was grateful and resentful at the same time.

She held my elbow as I stood again, head spinning as we forged on.

In bed, she drew the covers up to my chin. “I’ll bring you something to eat. You’ll sleep easy with a full, warm stomach,” Mildred insisted. “Alberta made your favorite. Windsor soup? Doesn’t that sound nice on a day like this?” She turned without my answer and left me to stare at the pale, sea glass walls. How it broke my heart to bear sight of them…

Mildred returned with the soup and I tried to eat enough to make her happy, my stomach soured by the effort. I couldn’t eat much of anything then, none of it sat well, but if I tried, they’d let me be for a few hours.

With the bedroom door finally closed, I slid out from beneath the blankets and went to the window, pressing my hand to the cool glass. I pulled the chair to the window and perched my chin on the sill. _I will find you, I will find you, I will find you_.I thought of all the things I would say and do if I could just have five minutes more.

I heard the screaming deep in my head. Whether it was Alice screaming or me, I can’t remember. When I’m left alone, even now, after all this time has passed, all I hear is the crashing and thrashing of the sea and the sound of bone-chilling screams filling my ears. I can hear nothing else.

I’m certain I will carry the sound to my grave.


	2. Part One

**ALICE**

I reached over to tuck a strand of her pretty blonde hair back into place. Her cousin, Mabel, fussed with the flowers in her hair and the arrangement of her veil. Mabel swatted my hand out of the way, and then nudged me aside altogether, chattering on about the luck of acquiring the baby’s breath on such short notice and at this time of year.

I had been widowed for several years—a longer time then than I’d been married—and could still remember the irresistible sensation of being exclusively adored for one blissful day. Being present in the room with Evanelle for hers gave me, in equal measure, both joy and sorrow. Joy to bear witness to the pure happiness of a bride on the day of her wedding. Sorrow, because she would never be mine and mine alone ever again.

Even as Mabel pecked and plucked and poked, I thought back to our days of finishing school in the countryside, braiding lavender into each other’s hair. How impossibly vast the world had seemed then.

“Mabel, I think that’s plenty of flowers, I’ll be carrying a bouquet too, after all,” Evanelle laughed, polite as ever. Even when she was displeased, I’d never known her to be rude, nor anyone to interpret her character as such. She possessed a natural kindness that had endured over the years in such a way that it seemed the world hadn’t and could never touch her. An angel through and through. “Off you go now. We’ll be starting soon.” She looked over Mabel’s shoulder to me. “Won’t we?”

I glimpsed the clock on the mantle and gave a resolute nod of the affirmative.

Mable kissed Evie’s cheeks and gave them a little pinch for good measure.

The two of us were alone at long last.

I took her hands into mine and kissed each one. “You are the most beautiful creature in all the world, Evanelle Cartwright. If Mrs. Trumble could see you now.”

She laughed, brushing a tear from her eye. “She’d say I was a credit to her great undertaking to raise me up from a lowly little mud pie into a proper lady, I’m sure.”

“Arthur is so very wonderful. I know he’ll be a good husband to you.”

She nodded as I reached to pluck a few sprigs of baby’s breath out of her crown. Something changed in her face as she cast her eyes down.A rift of silence carried between us, and somewhere tangled in it, I knew, was love and longing.

“Chin up now, darling,” I said, drawing her gaze back up. “Only happy tears today.” I dried her eyes with my handkerchief.

“You’ll still come, won’t you? Even though I’ll be married?”

I laughed until it was plain she was serious. “Of course, Ophelia,” I teased. She smiled at the old joke as I knew she would. “No need to be dramatic. You may call on me whenever you like.” In earnest, I meant it. We’d been through thick and thin together since we were young girls, but I thought to myself: _If you could only know how my heart beats for you. Has always done._ If she asked me, I’d come immediately, and although I suspected she knew it, my reassurance seemed to ease her nerves. “Besides, I’m a lot ruder than you and it never changed things between us when I was married. Why should it stop us this time?”

She threw her arms around me and held me tight. Somewhere within the chapel, an organ bellowed. The door opened and Mr. Cartwright stood in the ingress to collect his daughter.

“That’ll be my cue,” I laughed and squeezed her hand one final time. “You are the loveliest bride I ever saw, Evanelle.”

She chuckled and linked her pinky with mine—another reminder of simpler times. I scurried out of the room to the chapel, smile fading with every step. A tingling feeling of dread inched along with me.

No, not dread. Grief.

Evie was thrilled and for her sake, I ought to be, too. Entering the chapel, I forced a smile.

I found a place to sit near the front, but unlike the others, I couldn’t turn to watch my oldest and dearest friend ascend the aisle to meet her groom. If I had, she might very well have spotted the tear on my cheek.

 _She’ll be happy. All that matters is that she’s happy,_ I thought. It was the only thing I wanted, even if it meant giving her up, and losing her a little.

I blotted my eyes as she gave her vows, my chest heavy with the pain of longing, but I kept that smile plastered on my face, lest she look over and catch me in the naked clarity of my feelings.

Outside the chapel, we threw rose petals and rice. The late winter day was beautifully bright and crisp with clarity. She met my eye one last time as she entered the carriage and gave me a shining smile that could have illuminated even the darkest cellar within me.

I smiled back and waved, refuting all the emotions inside of me.

As the guests cleared away, I found myself alone in the churchyard, wandering the headstones until I found his.

PETER AMBROSE WATSON

Devoted husband, cherished friend

Born June 16, 1857 — Died November 12, 1883

I knelt at the foot of his grave and stared at it for a long time, but neither prayer nor thought came to me. I did not carry my grief for his loss in a natural fashion; he had been a devoted and wonderful husband, just as the epitaph implied. I was sad to lose him at first, of course, as any wife ought. But as the time passed, I felt only relief. I would not ever have been able to love him as truly and as well as I should.

But Evanelle would love Arthur as she should, I was certain of it.

I stood, pressing my hand to the headstone as I made my way out of the little cemetery.

“Can I be of assistance?” asked the vicar.

I shook my head and offered a small smile. “No, thank you.”

I didn’t know it then, but this was the beginning of the end of everything.


	3. Part One

**EVANELLE**

I awoke with a start, but as I sat up in bed, I couldn’t discern the cause for waking. Night had taken its grip on the room, and with it, a feverish fatigue gripped me in return. Head thick as lead with thoughts moving just as slowly, my hand fell upon the vacant side of the bed where the sheets were cool and unoccupied.

I half expected Alice there, stirring and tugging at her share of the covers.

I reached for the matches and lit the lamp at the bedside; I attempted to make out the time from the clock on the mantle where the fire had died away to embers. I was wide awake and uninterested returning to slumber. I extricated myself from the blankets, taking stock of the chair where I’d surely fallen asleep.

…Hadn’t I? I couldn’t recall.

I reached for the pitcher of water on the vanity and poured a little into a glass, draining it at once. I next stoked the fire with the poker, urging it to carry on just a bit longer. The effort proved to be a bit much; my head gave a throb that demanded I sit for a moment. I perched on the edge of the chair at the vanity, wondering how long it might take for me to feel well again. It hadn’t taken long the first time, but I hadn’t been so ill then.

If we’d come to Blackwater sooner this time, I might not have been so weak, but I couldn’t find the strength in my heart to return until I was too thoroughly worn down to refuse. Would we always stay here, I wondered with a measure of dread at the thought. What good was a healthy body without a sound mind?

I stood from the vanity and trailed my fingers across the mantle. Half past three, the clock’s faceread. I returned to bed and snuffed out the lamp. Turning to my side, I felt the pressure build in my chest until I couldn’t bear it and sputtered—hard, wracking coughs that made it feel as though my ribs would break apart from the force. My temples gave a painful throb as I writhed, unable to stop.

The bedroom door opened and Arthur was beside me in an instant, re-igniting the lamp. “I’m here, Evie. I’m here.”

I wheezed, gagging and gasping for air as Arthur fetched the basin from the vanity. My fingers dug into the tender flesh of his wrist.

I realized that this was what it was to drown.

I cradled the basin against my chest; Arthur rang the bell to alert Mildred, who came at once a short while later. “We need the doctor,” Arthur insisted, holding my hand as I gagged on air. He stroked my arm in a desperate attempt to comfort until my throat opened once again.

“Water,” I croaked.

He brought the glass to me and held my head as I sipped. His cool hand pressed against my forehead. “You’re burning,” he frowned, stripping back the coverlet. I shivered beneath the sheet.

Overhead, the sound of a chair scraping wood prompted me to rise. The hair on my neck stood on end as I sat forward. “Did you hear that?” I asked him, the cold feeling of dread in my stomach becoming solid.

He listened, waiting. “I don’t hear anything, Evie…”

I hushed him and I waited, knowing what would come next.

A dull thump of weight overhead. I knew I wasn’t mad when Arthur turned his gaze to the ceiling too. “Not again,” I whispered. “Not again,” I said, louder. “You can’t have him too!”

“Evanelle, what—“

Thump. _Thump_.

“I’m going upstairs to the attic,” Arthur stood.

“No, please! Don’t leave me!” Again, it was happening.

“I’ll be back it’ll only be a moment,” Arthur insisted, turning down the darkened hallway.

 _Not again. Not again, oh please…_ I prayed as Mildred retuned. “He can’t be in the attic—no one can be up in the attic.” She looked at me as if I were possessed.

“The doctor is on his way ma’am. He’ll be here soon.”

“Arthur? Arthur come down,” I shouted. I could hear his steps overhead. I wanted to run after him, to bring him back down and lock the attic door. “Arthur!”

Mildred held my hands. “You mustn’t exert yourself, dear, you’re very weak already.”

I waited and worried and wished until he appeared in the doorway. “Nothing up there. I suspect a raccoon or a possum, perhaps.” He sat beside me.

“Never go back up there again,” I demanded. “Promise me you won’t, it’s not safe.” Mildred went to answer the front door.

Arthur cupped a hand to my dampened cheek. “There isn’t anything up there, I’ll show you in the morning,” he said.

“Promise me,” I said. “No one must ever go to the attic.”

“It’s just an attic, dear, I promise. Nothing more than a room with a pitched ceiling and some creaky old floorboards.”

I coughed. “ _Promise_ ,” I demanded as the doctor entered the room.

Arthur moved aside as he came round. Dr. Bishop. We’d become rather well acquainted when Alice and I had first made the trip to Blackwater House, at least at first.

“I had rather hoped never see you again, my dear,” he said, removing the stethoscope from his bag.

“I had rather hoped never to call,” was my reply as he passed the glass of water. I sipped and rested back into the pillows.

The cold of the stethoscope made my chest ache. He looked me over with methodical eyes until he was satisfied. “You are very ill, Mrs. Hill. It is good you came back when you did.”

Resigned, I said nothing. Arthur seated himself on my other side and took my hand up again. “Will she recover?” he asked.

“I’ve no doubt. But it will take time and a great deal of rest. She should not be disturbed until she’s regained some of her strength. We will first need to bring the fever down,” Dr. Bishop opened the window a crack to let in the briny air. I shivered as the cold passed over my skin through the sheet.

I wanted to laugh at the notion of being left undisturbed, because I knew deep in my heart that Blackwater House had other plans. For all of us.


	4. Part One

**ALICE**

It had been months since I had seen my dearest Evanelle. There had beem invitations to tea and dinner, but the prospect of watching she and Arthur, so in love with each other, pained me. I made my excuses on three or four occasions, but when she invited me to see their new home—completely redecorated to her liking—I thought time and distance had cured me of my longing.

I arrived at the house and found her, beautiful as ever, but in a clear and present state of unwellness. She smiled prettily and her hair was coifed, but dull. Her complexion was ashen and she looked poorly rested.

But it isn’t very polite to mention such things.

She walked me from room to room, pointing out the things she liked best about each—the library that she and Arthur sat in on Sundays, reading aloud to each other from old books that had been in the family for ages—shelved now from floor to ceiling. The kitchen, pristine and managed by a no-nonsense soul called Amy, the dining room with its grand chandelier, and the sitting room, of which she seemed especially fond, with wallpaper so vibrantly green that it seemed to me it was almost alive.

A beautiful house for a beautiful woman to entertain a host of beautiful guests, I imagined.

We took tea in the sitting room. I listened to her speak of things that interested us both very little, I suspect.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to call sooner,” I admitted at last. _I couldn’t_ , I thought. I found myself unable to meet her eye, though I wanted to.

“We’ll say no more about it,” she put her hand in mine. “I imagined you were on a grand adventure.”

“Of course you did, Ophelia,” it made me smile and she laughed.

“Come now, friends again?” Evanelle asked.

I curled my pinky around hers. “Thick as thieves. Forever.” A swell of quiet passed where all we could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. “I hope you won’t think me rude,” I said.

She grinned. “You always do say what suits you. Never mind the rudeness.”

I couldn’t smile back. “Are you alright?” I asked, finally peering into her bright, glassy eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her smile faltering.

I struggled with the words I wanted to say. My mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. “Is Arthur…is he good? To you?”

“Of course he is,” she insisted. “He’s positively splendid—I couldn’t ask for better.”

I shrank against the tone of her alarm and felt at once ashamed of my own remarks.

“What would ever make you think that?” She asked, finally, curious and childlike, as was Evanelle’s way.

“You look a little unwell, that’s all,” I said. “Pale. Tired.”

She contemplated it. “I suppose it’s just that I’ve been so busy…” she trailed off, looking away from me. She suddenly seemed sapped of her personhood; it made me frown. “With the house and the dinner parties.” She looked back at me. “I have such headaches,” she confessed. “I don’t think I sleep well at all; I’m so very tired… _Always_ so very tired.” Evanelle exhaled, both in relief and sorrow. “I don’t mean to sound so ungrateful—“

“No of course not,” I squeezed her arm. “You could never be. You’re just… It’s the city air, Evie, that’s all. You just need fresh air in the countryside. That’s all. Just a bit of air and sunshine.”

She smiled and rested her head on my shoulder. “How I’ve missed you,” she sighed. “Never go away like that again.”

I laughed. It was good to have her so close. It reminded me of our school days when she’d slip into bed beside me in the late hours of the night and we’d talk of the universe and the future, and all that we would do.

Our closeness sealed whatever divide had come between us and I felt mended.

“Of course. I promise.” I said, stroking her cheek with a finger in the familiar way I knew she liked.

“Where would I go?” Evie sat upright again after a few minutes. “Out of the city, I mean.”

I considered the question. “Doesn’t your family have an estate by the sea?”

“Blackwater House? We haven’t been in ages—not since before I was in school. It was my Great Aunt’s before she passed,” she said. “I’m not even sure it’s inhabitable.”

“Well, perhaps you ought to write your father and ask if they’ll have you. The sea air is wonderfully curative, you know.”

I watched as she turned the idea over in her mind. “It would be nice to trade the sound of hooves on cobblestones and the bustle of the city for a few weeks,” she considered. “Would you go with me?” She asked, brightening again. “Oh, Alice, you must!”

“Wouldn’t Arthur go?” I asked. “A second honeymoon for you both.”

“No, no. He’s far too busy with the Bank. He thinks they’re going to promote him soon. No chance he’d leave,” she said. “But you could go with me, it’ll be just like it was when we were girls. We’ll go to the beach every day and have the most wonderful time. Oh, please say you’ll come! I couldn’t go all by myself, and who else would I bring with me, if not you?”

I saw the look of hope in her eyes, so alive and cheerful at the prospect of going away. Her unbridled enthusiasm was utterly arresting and weakened whatever armor I had tried to outfit my fragile heart with. I smiled at her and cupped a hand to her cheek. “Dear Ophelia. You make it impossible to tell you no.”

She gave a squeal of delight and threw her arms around me. I was sure that her pleasure would convince Arthur without effort. Of course he would agree if it made her happy.

Who would we be if either of us were to say no to our dearest girl?


	5. Part One

**EVANELLE**

I dreamed fitfully through the remaining night and well into the morning, wandering between waking and sleeping like a waif lost on the moors. I ached and sweated and tossed, searching for the rest I’d been advised of, but to no avail.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Alice’s. Dark and bright with shock. Or her jaw unhinged and screaming, or her brow furrowed tight with pain.

I even pressed myself to recall something happy to absolve myself of the agony, but it was tainted. All of it tainted.

I shivered beneath the sheets, longing for warmth and comfort. Mildred brought porrige and toast, but I could only grimace and fuss. “Later,” I assured, turning away and curling tightly into myself like a wounded animal.

“You must eat something. At least a little.”

“It won’t keep,” I gave another shudder. “I can’t stomach it.” I was nearly convulsing as the fever wracked me.

Somewhere in the afternoon, Arthur carried me out of the room to the bath. The water was cold against my skin; I sat in it, legs pressed to my chest and trembling as Mildred wrung a cool cloth over my back, every fiber of my being yearning to be exorcised of illness.

“I fear I may die,” I moaned, pressing my cheek to the edge of the claw foot tub as my insides churned.

“You won’t,” Mildred said. “Your body is fighting. That’s what fever is for.” She seemed so sure of the words that I wanted wholeheartedly to believe them.

I could picture Alice sitting where Mildred sat now, just as she’d done back then, but Icouldn’t remember what it was we’d talked about. It was a painful thing, recognizing that I was already forgetting and would carry on forgetting. I feared it would come sooner than my heart could mend and I’d never recover even a shadow of happiness.

Fresh clothes, fresh sheets. It did my body a small bit of good. The window was left open in my room, the waft of salty air finding its way in.

“When will we go to the sea today?” I asked Arthur when he came. My teeth chattered and my jaw had begun to ache.

“Not today,” he said. “Dr. Bishop’s orders.”

“You promised,” I griped, sapped of the energy to rail against him harder.

He sighed. “Perhaps tomorrow if your fever breaks. You’ll catch your death out there, besides. And it’s raining.” Arthur looked to the window, his thumb stroking my hand.

We were quiet for some time. “How long will we stay?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“As long as it takes, I suppose,” he said.

“Couldn’t we stay somewhere else?” I asked.

He looked at me with confusion and disbelief. “Where else would we possibly go?” he asked.

“Anywhere,” I pressed my eyes shut. “I don’t care where.”

For the first time in a while he looked sour. “You beg me to take you to the sea and now you want to leave?” He asked. “Evanelle…”

“It’s hard to be here,” I said.

“I know. I can’t imagine it,” he drew closer. “I am pained for you, but I don’t know that we could go anywhere else.” Somewhere beneath his words I knew there were financial worries.

“I’m tired now,” I said. “Will you stay with me awhile?”

He stroked my cheek and offered a kindly smile. “Until you fall asleep.”

I returned what little of a smile I could muster, my hand tucked in his as I closed my eyes, drifting away.

The dream took over again.

That day—the first day, in the gardens. Alice had never been to Blackwater. She was standing in the garden, so taken with the overgrown bushes of lavender, fox glove, and pink roses. Alice was wearing a dress the color of larkspurs and looked so much like another flower herself.

I knew she was speaking and I couldn’t make it out. I ventured toward her, calling her name, whatever innocent smile or thought in my head burst.

“Alice?” I called, hastening forward. “Alice, what’re you doing,” I touched her shoulder

She turned faster than I could blink and seized my throat. Her face was mottled and gray, her eyes clouded like a swirling storm, and she squeezed and screamed.

_Your fault! YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT!_

I jolted back awake, coughing violently into the corner of the sheet. Late afternoon light poured through the windows, the dark clouds from the days past beginning to thin.

I rested back into the pillows. “What do you want from me? What can I do?” asked I, to no one in particular.

All I wanted was for the torment to cease. I couldn’t bear it anymore.

Across the room, behind the closed doors of the mahogany wardrobe, came the familiar sound of scratching. The whistling scream steadily climbed in volume, and even the ticking of the clock grated on my nerves. I turned over and wrenched the pillow over my ears, willing it to stop.

The scratching became louder, more frantic; I couldn’t stand the sound and threw myself from the bed, wrenching the doors open. “Leave me alone!” I cried.

The sight of that larkspur purple dress made me howl. I tore it from the place where it hung and balled it up, casting it into the fire.

Mildred pulled me away. “What on earth!” she cried, pushing me along back to the bed. “Shall I fetch the doctor again, ma’am?”

“I want it gone, “ I commanded. “All of it.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, startled and turned to look into the wardrobe. “Those are your things,” she insisted.

It was then that I noticed the fabric in the fireplace wasn’t purple at all. It was sage green—one of mine. Confused I shook my head. “No, no…it was Alice’s…”

“It’s what you arrived in, ma’am.”

I blanched, remembering the day we’d come and the sage colored frock I’d chosen. Light for lighter spirits, I’d said…

“Mildred, the devil is in the walls of this house.” I hugged my knees to my chin.


	6. Part One

**ALICE**

The carriage ride had been punctuated here and there with Evanelle’s coughs, cursing from the coachman, and picturesque views of the countryside. It had taken three days, stopping along the way for a night’s rest but the journey was finally coming to a close.

Already, Evie seemed to have more color in her cheeks, and some of her lively demeanor had restored. I had no doubt she’d make a hasty and full recovery.

I had little to say, but it was wonderful to be in her company again, as if no time had passed and nothing had changed between us.

“Do you remember our school days?” I asked. The countryside reminded me of the finishing school we’d attended; far-flung from high society where young ladies couldn’t be influenced by anything other than their instructresses.

“Of course I do,” she laughed. “It wasn’t all that long ago.”

I blushed. “I was thinking about the day we first met.”

She covered her eyes in embarrassment. “Oh, no…”

“Remember? You were…ten?”

“Barely nine,” Evanelle laughed.

I nodded, “Right. I was twelve, and you were nine. And you were so beside yourself, thinking you would never be allowed to see your parents again.”

“You came skipping down the stairs and told me I ought to get my wits about me because no one liked a little girl who carried on like a baby,” she said, matter-of-fact, but still smiling.

“No, I don’t think I was as harsh as that,” I insisted.

“You were!” she gave another hearty laugh. “I thought I would hate it there forever. And then Mrs. Barrow put us in a room together.”

I grinned. “You were petrified that first night, and I felt terrible.”

“Did you really?” Evanelle asked. “I thought you must hate me for carrying on.”

“Not at all,” I reassured her. But I’d been sent off to finishing school the day after I turned six. My mother had died that year and my father couldn’t bear to keep me, so off I went. I knew what it was to be so lonely as she had been.

“Ho!” cried the coachman as the carriage lurched to a halt.

“Are we here?” I asked. “Already?” I peered out at the wooded drive we’d come up on.

Evanelle smiled. “I think so. This looks familiar.” She pushed the door open and stepped out into the bright sun.

I disembarked behind her and found myself face to face with the indomitable Blackwater House.

It was a great, stone manor house with tall, latticed windows and a froth of ivy climbing a quarter of the left wing. The gravel drive rounded a fountain and an overgrown garden bloomed with life. The warm, June day harmonized with the buzzing of bees and the chirping birds nested in the trees over our heads.

“It’s exactly as I remember,” Evanelle grinned, closing ground between the coach and the front doors.

I looked up at the place in wonder. The great house would be all ours to explore and ours alone. My heart fluttered.

Something in the upper right window caught my eye where a curtain stirred. A housekeeper, I guessed, as I followed Evanelle inside.

The entryway was high-ceilinged with a grand staircase and polished floors, and walls the color of evergreens, decorated with glided frames. The staircase lent itself to a railed hallway that overlooked the foyer.

“Come, let me show you,” Evanelle took my hands and pulled me through to the sitting room on the left of the staircase.

The iron windows must’ve been some twenty-five feet high and offered a wash of warm natural light to inhabit the room with its leather and velvet chaises and chairs. A great fireplace helmed the room at the far end, and to its left was a doorway.

She pulled me through it to a greenhouse grander than anything I’d ever seen with a view that looked out to the ocean.

“Oh, I loved it in here as a girl,” she sighed in ecstacy.

I could see her, aged six, twirling daintily in a white frock and black patent shoes, singing to her innocent heart’s content. I watched her then, floating from one table to the next, assessing the foliage.

“I thought you said it was closed up?” I asked. It didn’t have the look of a house that had been left in disarray, but old houses like these were seldom left to nature’s devices.

“Oh, yes. But Daddy pays a caretaker and a housekeeper to come by weekly,” she said. “I think John is meant to inherit it when he marries.”

John Cartwright. Evanelle’s oldest brother. “Is he still carousing about in India?” I asked, leaning in to smell a rose as red as blood.

“No, I think he’s hunting in Africa now,” Evanelle said. “We haven’t even gotten to the best parts yet,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me outside through a glass door.

The stone parapet overlooked a beach the likes of which I’d never seen. The shoreline was dark and pebbled; not the sandy crust I’d been expecting in the least. I guessed the name Blackwater had come from the sea’s appearance against the rock. It looked colder. Less inviting, but the view was still breathtaking.

She moved my arm around her shoulders and rested her head on mine. “The bedrooms face it. Every one. The sunsets are spectacular,” she whispered.

I smiled and cast my eyes down. “How do you feel?” I asked.

She inhaled the sea air and considered the question. “I think I feel much better already.”

“Good,” I said, embracing her fully. “Fresh air will fix you up. You’ll be right as rain and back to your love soon.” I told her, reminding myself that I should continue to keep my distance and protect my heart.

“Would you like to see the rest?” she asked, pulling away.

“Of course I would,” I said as she turned back inside. I followed dutifully after, wandering from the kitchen and dining rooms, through a small study, past the servants quarters, and up the back service stairs.

The bedrooms were airy and open with ornate canopies and fireplaces, and hand-carved furnishings. Just as Evanelle said, they all boasted beautiful views of the ocean just beyond the pebbled beach.

I chose the pale blue room with walls the color of sea glass for myself.


	7. Part Two

**EVANELLE**

I woke around midnight, fever broken at last. I felt too rested to return to sleep and took it as a promising sign. Across the room, I stared at the wardrobe, closed once again, waiting for some sign that I wasn’t alone.

A few minutes of silence passed; I stood and fetched my robe, creeping out into the hallway.

The house was still. To my left, the bedroom that Arthur slept in where the door hung slightly ajar to hear me if I needed anything, I imagined. The other rooms—five in total besides our two, had the doors drawn closed.

I headed for the stairs, careful to move with a light step as not to disturb the floorboards. At the bottom, I turned right into the grand sitting room and went to the greenhouse.

The night sky was mostly clear, the bright crescent of the moon overhead cast a glow upon the sea. My fingers trailed over plants and sculptures, absorbing the textures and smells. I sat on the wrought iron bench near the roses contemplating my options.

The beach was terribly close. It wouldn’t have been difficult to get there. But nothing good happened after dark at Blackwater House and it hardly seemed safe to venture out. I stayed put on my bench.

 _Darling, come back to bed_.

It wasn’t Arthur’s voice. It was deeper, older. I turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to find someone.

I found myself alone and decided not to linger any longer.

Instead, I made my way into the kitchen, filled the tea kettle, and waited. I thought about bringing tea upstairs for Arthur and me, just as Alice had done, but I decided against it. He needed a night’s rest without interruption and I’d never known him to share confidences with me into the wee hours of the morning.

I loved him, and dearly. But we sometimes need different things from different people.

The tea kettle began to whistle. I pulled it off the heat and took a teacup from the cupboard, fixing enough for myself, and sitting at the kitchen table. No cream, no sugar.

I tried to make peace with the loneliness of the night, waiting for something inside of me to ignite and recognize that it was fine to be alone with one’s thoughts. But for so long, the thoughts I’d entertained were…to say the least, miserable.

I focused my attention on my teacup. I closed my eyes and held it beneath my nose, breathing in the smell of peppermint and feeling the tendrils of steam curl around my nose. I sippedand savored, but still, the void inside of me seemed to vast to be filled by a warm cup of tea.

I peered into it and saw my reflection looking back.

The shape of a man crept over my shoulder. I gasped, casting the teacup away as I scrambled to my feet. I coughed, searching the kitchen for the intruder, but there was no one to be found.

My heart raced as I glimpsed the mess I’d made. Tea had splashed across the table, and the cup had skittered off, splitting neatly in three pieces on the stony floor.

Gathering my wits about me, I picked up the broken pieces and wiped the tea up with a rag. All desire to labor in the dark with my own mind had left me by then, and I found myself all but running to reach my room again. I shut the door as quietly as I could and stole back beneath the covers like a child afraid of the monster beneath her bed.

I wouldn’t tell Arthur. I couldn’t. He wouldn’t understand. I was paralyzed with fear as I lay beneath the sheets, my head covered to mask out the world around me.

I pressed my eyes closed and willed myself to sleep, but my heart hammered on. I felt an inescapable sensation that something or someone was watching me.

I dared to peer over the edge of the sheet and found no one across the room. Exhaling, I relaxed slightly into the pillows and tried to recount how such things could happen. Surely it’d only been a trick of the light that I’d seen a stranger over my shoulder in the teacup.

And perhaps it had been the fever to blame for why I burned my dress in a fit of delirium.

And perhaps Arthur was right about a pest in the attic.

Perhaps I hadn’t heard the scratching in the wardrobe. It was all just a simple misunderstanding, I was just sick.

I would get better, we would return home, and then I would dive into my wifely duties. Preparing for Christmas, filling my womb with a child. I would put Alice away like an heirloom and teach myself to recover from the heartbreak.

A cold finger traced my spine.

I turned over and saw the back of Alice’s head; her dark, chestnut hair in a wet plait around her head, sound asleep.

This wasn’t right.

“Alice?” I whispered, unable to stop my voice from quaking as I reached over to touch her. Her body was cold as ice. “Alice,” I gave her shoulder a shake.

She fell over toward me, water gushing from her open mouth and nose, her eyes frosted over with death. She took a rattling breath in and reached for my face, her icy fingertips touching my temple—

I sat upright with a start as the morning light streamed in. Confusion swirled through my mind as a knock came from outside the door.

Arthur entered with Dr. Bishop close behind.

“Oh wonderful, you’re awake. How do you feel, Evie?” Arthur asked.

“Better,” I said, reassuring him with a smile, trying to quell my frantic heart.

Dr. Bishop conducted his usual assessment of my constitution and sat back, smiling. “You look much improved, my dear. See that you continue to get good rest and you’ll be able to return to the city in no time.”

He started out of the room. Arthur cupped my cheek, beaming. “You are a wonder.”

“Can we go outside today?” I asked.

He considered the request. “Save your strength for this afternoon. You’ll have a pleasant surprise.”


	8. Part Two

**ALICE**

We’d taken a walk along the beach just after supper. The Housekeeper had gone and it was just the two of us now, wandering along. The breeze was warm on our cheeks in the gloaming, and Evanelle looked radiant in white. “It’ll be dark soon,” she cautioned. “Ought to turn back before we lose the way.”

We linked arms and made the trek back to Blackwater House, which stood like a beacon over the shore, its windows gleaming orange in the day’s end light. 

It was pleasant to be in good company. It made me suddenly aware that I had isolated myself at some point so thoroughly that I’d forgotten true happiness of a fashion.

Exhausted from the journey, Evanelle thought to call an early evening for herself. We parted ways at the foot of the stairs; I’d wanted to sit outside and enjoy the warm evening whilst I could, fot though our stay had no determined end, it would nevertheless come.

I chose a small corner of the parapet and dragged one of the iron chairs from the greenhouse outside to drink in the view of the moon and the ocean as it reflected the image back. I had not spent much time in the countryside since our school days, and felt a great deal of comfort in the slow, steady pace that the country afforded. Perhaps I, too, would be cured of the melancholy that had possessed me since my husband’s passing. Perhaps I would return to the city with renewed hopes for my future. If such things as these were possible, thought I, what would stop me moving to the country permanently?

I considered that I might belong away from the world and other prying eyes, particularly given my feelings for the young woman upstairs. It was dangerous to care so much and so well for her.

After I’d drunk in enough of the view, I decided to retreat myself, back upstairs to my room.

I lit the fire and changed out of my clothes. A fresh nightshirt felt wondrous after a long day in a corset. I burrowed beneath the covers and reached for my book from the bedside table, checking the clock before I set out to read.

Nearly midnight? Had it really been so long that I’d been outside? 

I shook my head and resumed my place from the night before. The subject had seemed so enticing when I’d picked the book out, but I found myself unable to concentrate.

Overhead I heard a thump. Confusion knitted my brow.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Steady. I cast off the covers and went to the door, sticking my head out into the hall. I could still hear it. At the very end of the hall was the door that led to the attic. I heard a cough in the room next door and suddenly that door opened too.

“What is that?” Evanelle asked, rubbing her eyes of sleep.

“No idea,” I said. I went back into the bedroom for a candlestick and lit it, carrying it with me down the hall.

“Where are you going?” Evanelle asked.

“To figure out what it is,” I said.

“Is that wise?” she caught up to me as we reached the door. My hand rested on the knob and turned, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Is there a key?” I asked, kneeling to peer through the keyhole.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

All I could see was stairs.

“I’m sure there is, but I’ve no idea where,” Evanelle said. “We’ll ask the housekeeper tomorrow. Perhaps she knows.”

I stood and reached for the edge of the doorframe; my father had always kept the key to our attic over the door where it was out of reach, but readily available.My fingers met only dust. “How are we supposed to sleep through that?” I asked.

It was, perhaps, the rhythm of it that provoked me as it did. It was muffled and slow, not at all like the footsteps of an intruder.

“Come, let’s go back to bed, whatever it is, it can’t possibly make such a racket all night,” Evanelle insisted, taking my arm in hand and pulling me away.

I was still miffed, but supposed she was correct. Nothing to be done about something up there if there wasn’t a key. But if we couldn’t get to whatever it was, did that mean it could find its way to us?

The mere idea was disturbing to me, to say the least. “I’d feel better if I knew where the key was,” I insisted.

“If you’d like to find it, go be my guest, but I won’t help you.” Her patience with me was wearing thin. “Let’s go to bed, we’ll work it out in the morning.”

I shook my head and brushed past her. Surely there was a master set of keys somewhere aroundthe house. I only needed to find them. I took to the kitchen, figuring they must be somewhere near service quarters. There was a set of keys for each room hanging on the wall in the corridor by the service stairs, but two were missing.

The master key and the key to the attic.Annoyed, I made my way back up the servant’s stairs to the hallway where Evanelle was waiting. “Did you find anything.”

“It’s missing,” I told her. “And so is the master key.”

She took my hands and dragged me reluctantly to her room. “Then we shall find them in the morning. For now let’s sleep.”

She curled up on one half of the bed and seemed to fall right to sleep, the other half of the bed left unoccupied. I stood just outside the doorway, looking in on her, and then looking again to the attic door. The thumping had slowed, greater gaps in between each one.

I looked to the bed where Evanelle lay, her breaths steady and shallow. I would have loved to crawl into bed beside her, just as we’d done as girls. Sense stopped me.

I pulled her door closed and retreated to my own room.

I would find a way into that attic, one way or another.


	9. Part Two

**EVANELLE**

It was unseasonably warm that afternoon, for a late September day by the sea. Mildred had assisted me in dressing in a simple frock—one more suited to comfort than its attractiveness—and she followed me out to the parapet, where Arthur waited.

He offered an arm to me, which I readily accepted, but rather than the beach, he drew me toward the gardens. I wanted to argue in favor of a trip to the sea, but it was further, and even such a small walk had already made me a bit tired.

The small hedge maze seemed an enticing but dizzying prospect. Arthur did not venture toward its opening. Instead he led me round to where the lavender grew thick—now venturing near its end of season. A picnic had been arranged for the two of us on the lawn.

It reminded me of the first time we’d done such a thing—the park in Paris on our honeymoon. And he’d replicated everything as near as he could to the original menu. I still had little appetite, but I was determined to show him that his gesture was indeed, much appreciated.

“This is splendid,” I smiled. “However did you manage it?”

“Alberta is an especially helpful woman,” he admitted. “It’s good to see you mending.”

I nodded in earnest. I still didn’t feel quite myself, but it was an improvement by and in large from two days earlier.

“Did you play out here as a girl?” Arthur asked.

“I did. John and Nathaniel and I used to chase our cousins through the maze just over there.”

He glanced over his shoulder and back at me. “I like to think of you as a wild little thing.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t imagine why.”

“It seems so unlike the you I know, that’s all.”

I smiled and plucked a branch of grapes for my plate. “Weren’t you a wild little thing as a child?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he smiled.

“Oh bollocks, we all were and you know it,” I laughed.

He laughed. “Alright, but only a little. Your parents tell quite the stories of your adventures, so I’ve only that to compare it to, but I assure you I was at least moderately even tempered and meek.”

It seemed a true account of what I knew of Arthur; I’d never known him to be brash or grand about anything. As I looked at him, I could only imagine a boy who did a lot of reading in solitude.

But Arthur had also been an only child. Both of his sisters had passed young and he was all that remained. As such, I knew his mother and father had been quite protective of him.

“Now that you’re feeling better,” Arthur said, biting into a finger sandwich, chewing and swallowing. “I was thinking we could discuss a few things.”

My stomach fluttered nervously. “What sort of things?” I asked, setting my food aside, all interest in it gone.

“I’d written it off as fever, but the things you’ve said over the past few days… They’re a little concerning. I’m sure you know that.”

The tension in my chest pulled tight. I could find no words with which to defend myself.

“You told Mildred the Devil was in the walls?” He asked.

I felt a scarlet heat rise into my cheeks as I shook my head. “No, no. That was the fever—“

“You burned your clothes,” he said, his tone soft as a lamb.

“I thought—“ I stopped short of an explanation. “The fever, I tell you.” My heart thundered. I couldn’t possibly own up to the truth of the matter, which was that something was not at all right in the house. He would think me mad.

“Why didn’t you want me to go to the attic?” he asked, looking at me as innocent as could be.

“I…” I struggled to find the words. “I think it’s not safe. Up there.”

“I went up and had a look. Nothing seemed amiss to me,” Arthur said. “I can show you if you like?”

I couldn’t meet his eye. “I don’t like it up there. Bad things always happen up there.”

Arthur’s brow knitted. “What sort of bad things?”

I shook my head. “You won’t believe—it sounds…absolutely mad.”

He took my hand. “I promise to keep an open mind.”

I glanced at him and then away again. “Alice was obsessed with the attic when we were here last. The door was locked and the key had gone missing.”

“It wasn’t locked when I went to it,” Arthur said.

My gaze shot straight up to his. “What do you mean it wasn’t locked?” My heart quickened.

“Just what I said. I went to the attic door and I opened it.”

A chill came over me. I shook my head again. “It’s beside the point. Alice was determined to get into it.”

“And?”

“It consumed her for the entire trip. The thumping at night kept her awake—she wanted to cut it open with an axe.”

Arthur looked puzzled. “Didn’t the housekeeper have the keys?”

I shook my head. “We came back from a walk on the beach—the night before. It was wide open.”

“Did it calm her?” He asked, relaxing. “I swear to you, there’s nothing up there, Evanelle.”

I again shook my head. “I didn’t go with her. I had a bad feeling.” I trailed off. “But she wasn’t…right. When she came back down, she wasn’t right.”

“How do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it exactly. She just…didn’t seem herself. Quieter. Almost…malicious?” I took a deep breath in. “She was wrong, somehow. I’ve known her so long, Arthur. I would know her better than I do myself. The person who came down from the attic… It wasn’t Alice.”

He frowned, trying to make sense of what I was saying.

I looked down into my hands, picking at the skin around one of my nails. “I know, it’s completely mad, but I think there’s something about the house. It isn’t right, somehow. I don’t think it ever has been? Aunt Lucrecia never allowed us up in the attic.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s those penny dreadfuls these days. Inspiring us all to find ourselves at the center of our own little ghost stories.”

What I wouldn’t have given to brush it off so easily as he had.


	10. Part Two

**ALICE**

We’d spent the day chasing each other around the grounds like children as best as Evanelle could tolerate it and night had now fallen once again. She sat at the vanity table in my room while I brushed and plaited her hair with a rosy-cheeked look of contentment on her face the whole time.

I sat at the foot of the bed and watched her admire my handiwork in the vanity mirror. She turned around and looked at me with an expression I could not figure out. “What?” asked I.

She shook her head and blushed, embarrassed. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I think I’ll go to bed.” She stood from the seat and retreated for the door, but stopped at the far corner of the bed, frozen.

“What is it, Evanelle? Are you alright?” I asked.

She spun around and her lips met mine faster than I could realize.

My heart raced, and while everything within me tried to resist, I couldn’t stop myself. She perched into my lap and I found my hands tracing a familiar path along her thigh. My breath quickened as she pulled the ribbons of my nightgown loose and tangled me up in her arms.

And as quickly as she’d come on, she removed herself from me, turning to the window.

“No, no…we can’t,” she whispered. “Oh, I’m so bloody stupid.”

I shook my head. “No, no—“ my fingers brushed her wrist and she jerked away.

“I’m _married_ ,” she fretted, wringing her hands as she paced.

She started to go and I caught her wrist instead. Her eyes met mine, and all I could muster was “Stay.”

I waited for her to steal off into the hall, but instead, she returned to the opposite side of the bed and sat with her head in her hands. “What is the matter with me?” she cursed herself. “I must be so thoroughly ill…”

My hand rested on her shoulder. “Nothing is wrong with you,” I tried out a smile but she wouldn’t look. “Lay down. With me, here. It’ll be just like the old days,” I said.

She slid beneath the covers, her back still turned away, but I took it as a sign of some sort that she didn’t leave again. I slipped beneath the covers too, staring at the shine of her hair.

She turned over and looked at me. “This is a terrible idea,” she said.

“The world holds many terrible ideas,” I reminded her.

“So it does,” she whispered to herself. I leaned in and kissed her tenderly. She found my hand and squeezed it beneath the covers. “I love him,” she said. “Arthur.”

“I know you do,” I told her.

She looked sad. “I love you, too.” She said.

I nodded. My fingers laced between hers. “I’m not going to say anything. You know that,” I assured her.

She nodded, but still seemed stricken.

“Turn over and close your eyes,” I said, knowing already she’d comply.

I traced shapes on her back the same as I did when we were children. Hearts and stars, clouds, the moon. Her breathing steadied, little by little until I was sure she was fast asleep.

I turned over myself, and stared out the window at the moon. My mind raced with a million thoughts, most of them from when we were much younger, and the first time our lips had ever touched. We’d been young and foolish then, and didn’t yet understand what cruelty existed out in the world. We were just country-grown girls, braiding flowers in each other’s hair, strolling gardens with our little fingers locked together. Co-conspirators, thick as thieves.

I thought of my graduation from finishing school, and how she’d begged her parents to let her off early so she could go with me (and the sting of how they’d said no).

In my absence, and although we wrote letters, she became someone different. And then after her graduation, she was off to Africa with her brothers and parents. She came home briefly for my wedding and to tell me that she’d met a gentleman she was fond of.

The rest was…well.

This.

I curled up into myself and let my eyes close.

Some time later I woke to the embers of the fire dimly lighting the opposite end of the room. Evanelle still lay beside me and I turned over to study her sleeping face the way I’d done so many times before. I was torn about stroking her hand and not wanting to wake her.

I refused to let all thought enter my head, choosing instead to savor the feeling of being so close to a woman I cared so deeply for with no one to intrude.

What unimaginable bliss to be completely content.

I found my eyes drooping again, but a scratching sound from the far end of the room called me back to the waking world.

I propped myself up on my elbows, scanning the room. The scratching sound was coming from the wardrobe as best as I could tell.

I slipped out of bed and went to the door, pressing an ear to it. Slow, steady scratches. Hesitantly, I reached for the handles on the doors and waited, steeling myself for whatever might happen to fly out. The doors flew open with a creak, but nothing came out. I rifled through the clothes I’d hung in there, but nothing came of it.

“Alice, what’re you doing?” Evanelle whispered. I turned to see her in the pale moonlight, half-awake.

“I heard something in here,” I said, sitting back on my heels at a loss for what possibly could’ve made such a sound. I inspected the doors with a hand, looking for some evidence that I wasn’t falling to madness, but none revealed itself.

“Come back to bed,” Evanelle said.

I listened to her order. Shut the doors to the wardrobe tight, and retreated back to the warmth of the bed we shared. I held her close to my breast, closed my eyes and began to drift off.

A thump from overhead thwarted me.


	11. Part Two

**EVANELLE**

I stood out on the parapet, gazing out at the beach. I would go to the sea tomorrow, whether Arthur would join me or not, I decided. I reached for the glass of wine I’d carried out with me after dinner, trying to conjure some sort of happy memory that would breathe new life, but I struggled. 

Was my world really to be as small as this? I wondered. With these people and these places only, forever and ever? It had somehow never seemed so small and confining when Alice had been apart of it.

Now that my future held only the prospects of home and children and nothing else, I felt…a prisoner. Little more than a songbird in a gilded cage.

A wool coat draped over my shoulders and I turned to see Arthur standing there. He kissed me and gazed out at the view. “It really is beautiful,” he admitted.

I nodded, but I was thinking of how he would never know how much nicer it looked when the picture before me included my oldest and dearest friend.

“You seem lost in thought. What were you thinking about?” He asked.

I hesitated. “Its difficult to feel rested or happy here. It’s tainted now.” I said.

“But it is fresh air. That’s the most important thing,” Arthur reminded me.

“What good is it to be of sound body if I’m not also of sound mind?” I asked softly and mostly to myself.

He looked at me as if he were trying to figure me out—as if I were a puzzle to him. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked.

I gave him a quizzical look.

“You seem out of sorts,” he tried to recover.

“So did Alice,” I muttered and pushed past him into the greenhouse.

“Evanelle—“

I rounded a corner and heard his footsteps quick behind mine, but I did not slow my pace.

I headed out the front door and down the drive.

“Evie, wait.”

“Let me be, I need space,” I called back, marching my way through the trees with purpose, but without a direction.

I stopped when I felt his touch on my wrist.“Please talk to me,” He begged.

“Why should I? Just this afternoon you accused me of madness. You’ve treated me like a fragile piece of fine china, you have stifled me—I can’t breathe!” I pulled away from him, taking a deep breath. “I told you I didn’t want to come back,” I said. “You made me come back when I told you I didn’t want to come back.”

“So I was just to let you waste into nothing, then? Just sit back and allow you to grow sicker and sicker every day until there was nothing left of you? Hmm?” Arther demanded. “That’s not how it works, Evanelle. We made a promise, we took _vows_.”

“I need to clear my head, Arthur,” I turned again and headed toward the gate.

“Evanelle, please. Let me in, alright?”

“I said I need to clear my head,” I snapped and stalked off.

I didn’t look over my shoulder, not right way. I made it nearly to the end of the gate before I let the weight of my grief take me down to my knees.

This infernal place had me trapped.

It wasn’t Arthur’s fault. It wasn’t Alice’s.

There had to be more I wasn’t fully seeing, but I couldn’t yet make out what it was.

In the dying light of the evening, I turned back to Blackwater House. _Tell me your secrets_ , I begged, as I stood at the fountain.

I considered my harshness toward my husband and felt the familiar sting of shame and embarrassment. None of it was his fault. Not the sickness, not the house, not Alice.

I pushed through the front door and closed it behind me; inching my way up the stairs I searched for Arthur to apologize.

I found him in the upstairs study, sitting in a comfortable chair. I sat on the floor at his feet and rested my head on his knees. “I’m ungrateful,” I began. He said nothing. “Here you are, offering me the moon on a string and at the first opportunity, I dash all your hard work by telling you it isn’t enough.”

I heard the book he was reading close. I looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I coiled my arms around his waist; he embraced me back.

His hand rested on my head. We sat quietly like that for some time before he spoke. “I think I am at least partially responsible. I imagine it pains you a great deal to be here considering everything. It would be difficult even if you were well.”

I nodded. Quiet filled the space between us again, but I didn’t want to speak, lest I say the wrong thing.

“You two were very close,” he said.

I nodded gently. “Closer than sisters,” said I.

“I was thinking,” Arthur said, drawing my eyes to his. “We could have something of a memorial for her? By the sea.” And then quieter. “I know you wanted to go.”

I pulled him to me and kissed him deeply. “You are better than I deserve,” I said.

“Think on it,” he said. “We’ll go to the shore on Friday.”

“I think I’ll go to bed now. I’m tired,” I said, and as I said it, I realized how very true it was.

I retired to my room and undressed, placing my clothes back in the wardrobe. I thought of the scratching I’d heard before and recalled Alice had heard it too.

I sat on my knees as I’d seen her do and examined the wardrobe doors. Sure enough, there were no signs of scratches. I reached a hand back into the dark recesses under all the skirts and felt nothing along the sides. I had almost resolved to leave it alone when my fingers brushed something rough at the very back in the middle. I stood and plucked the dresses out one by one until I could see it fully. It was a light patch where it looked as though the varnish had been buffed away. I pulled the lamp from the mantle and set it inside, inching closer.

Suddenly the letters manifested themselves, overlapping a thousand times like they were fighting to be heard.

S A R A


	12. Part Two

**ALICE**

The following morning there was an unusual coldness between us that I tried to make light of. I had no reason to believe Evanelle was cross with me. After all, she’d been the one to start everything, but I felt compelled to keep my distance. She wanted to tend the greenhouse; I chose to give her space and wandered my way to the library upstairs with a hunger to know more about the house were were staying in.

We’d asked the housekeeper about the attic keys the following day, and she’d said she had nothing to do with the keys. I stared for a long moment at the attic door at the far end of the hall where it kept a menacing vigil over the rest of the rooms. Finally, I entered the study, warm sun pouring in from its wide windows that overlooked the garden.

I raided the large, oak desk that sat in the center of the room, rifling through the drawers with a rabid sort of drive, hoping I might unearth the key to the door. When that turned up nothing, I turned my attention to the ledgers and diaries I’d wantonly scattered about on the desk’s surface.

I opened the largest and thinnest of the volumes, which first presented a family tree. The last names to be added were those of Evanelle’s father and his siblings. There were some twenty-eight relations listed, all leading back to Genevive and Ignotius Blackwater. I assumed the Blackwater legacy went further back and would endeavor to find record of the name later, but for the present moment, I found the diary of Vanessa Percy—wife of one of Evanelle’s great uncles. I glanced at the tree and found her match to William Percy, but it appeared they’d had no children between them.

I opened her book to the middle, feeling as though I were prying somewhere I might be unwanted. The first entry I stopped at was a mere two sentences and nothing more:

“We lost our child today. My heart will never recover.”

I paged back to the beginning, skimming the first few entries. Vanessa wrote happily of her new engagement and all the things she hoped for in her future life. She seemed no different than Evanelle had been, nor any other girl on the cusp of such rites of passage. A few more in, she’d been wedded to William, who struck me as a serious man with no interest in frivolity.

It seemed in all marriages that each contained one kite and one string to keep it tethered. Vanessa was the obvious kite.

As I skimmed on, it was clear that her marriage was not everything she’d hoped it to be. William was cold and unsympathetic, worse still when she appealed to him for children. She seemed heartbroken on the page. I carried on further still and it seemed William had begun to change.

I paged back and compared the first entries of a hopeful wife to be to the distraught accounts of the same woman not eight months later.

_I have noticed such queer changes in him. I do not believe it is a true measure of his character to say that he is cold-hearted and unfeeling. He never struck me as such until after we were wed. I find now that he is unbearably jealous and seems to hold nothing but contempt in his heart for me. I want to love him, still. I do not believe the man I see now before me, day in and day out, is an accurate depiction of the man I married, and my thoughts wander often to what I must have done. Surely I’m to blame…_

I skipped the eight pages that followed and picked up again with the declaration of a pregnancy.

_Wonderful news today. I am with child, and I feel positively warm._

Two months of entries later came the loss, and the next accounts grew more grim.

_I believe William is deeply unwell. He is cruel and his cruelty knows no limit. I find myself wandering outside all day just to be short of him, so much so that the sun has affected my complexion. I don’t know what to do. As the days pass, I grow increasingly worried that something bad is bound to happen and I know not how to escape it. I thought to write my father, but I worry William will find me out. I suppose you, my dearest diary, will have to do for now._

A fraught feeling—worse than reading one of the penny dreadfuls—rose up in me. I skipped to the last entry in the book, cold dread replacing any hope I might have had. The last entry was six months from the one I’d read just before it.

_…He thinks I have been unfaithful. He looks at me with such hate in his eyes, no matter how I insist. He is certain. I have no power over him. I am with child again._

_I think he means to do me harm._

Shuddering, I slammed the book closed and pushed it away as if it were cursed. I sat in silence and horror for what seemed hours. My eyes wandered back to the family tree. On closer examination, it appeared that of 28 members of the family, 12 had died, a majority it appeared were young children. Not so unusual for the time, but the trend was evident. Evanelle, and her brothers, John and Nathaniel, it appeared, were the only surviving descendents of Genevive and Ignotius Blackwater. Any others were undocumented.

I paged through the other volumes I’d unearthed, but none of them held insights. One was a ledger for household expenses, the others appeared to be no more than the fictions and a lone bird watching tome of no impressive significance.

“Alice?” she called. “Alice,” Evanelle appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asked, a curious smile on her face.

“Evie, who’s Vanessa Percy?”

She seemed confused. “I’ve no idea, why do you ask?”


	13. Part Two

**EVANELLE**

I’d called Arthur into the bedroom to look at what I unearthed. He agreed it was rather an unusual place to find such a thing, but seemed otherwise unconcerned. I wasn’t so easily persuaded.

“Why would it be there,” I asked, wondering why anyone would’ve spent so much time in a wardrobe to have created such a thing.

“I don’t know, Evie, can’t we just go to sleep?” he asked. “You need—“

“Rest?” I finished his sentence. I was growing rather tired of the word. “I don’t know how you could possibly expect me to rest after such a discovery. It’s disturbing.”

“Why not move to a different room then? Hmm?” Arthur suggested.

I sighed and scanned the floor. I hadn’t wanted to stay in this room, but admittedly, the idea of moving from it didn’t feel quite right either.

It was a piece of Alice in here, or so it felt. And although it made me sad, I found I wanted to be close with my memories of her.

“We can try to move it out of the room tomorrow if it still bothers you in the morning,” Arthur said. He left and re-entered with a sheet, casting it over the top of the wardrobe. “There. Can’t even see it.”

 _But I’ll know it’s there_ , I thought. Since I’d found the scratches, I had been unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched.

“Thank you,” I relented and went to the bed, sliding under the covers. Arthur kissed my forehead and hand before leaving the room with the door standing just slightly ajar.

I gave a cough and settled down into the pillows, but I stared at the wardrobe and it stared back at me, ghastly with the sheet hung over it.

 _It’s only a wardrobe,_ I considered, _nothing remotely special about it._ But it certainly didn’t seem like nothing. Not with the scratches at the back.

I turned onto my side, and snuffed out the gas lamp beside the bed, trying to conjure up enough solace to lul me to sleep.

The scratching I’d heard before—that Alice had heard before—gave me reason to rise again. I moved to the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do next.

_Scraaaaaaatch._

_Scraaaaaaatch._

_Scraaaaaaatch._

“Sara?” I whispered.

_Scraaaa—_

“Sara,” I repeated.

Silence overtook the room.

“Are you Sara?” I asked. No indication came that I was correct or not. “One knock for yes, two for no,” I whispered. “Are you Sara?”

 _Knock_.

I glanced at the door, slightly open, and scarpered across the bed to shut it all the way. I approached the seat at the end of the bed and sat. “Are you the one who scratches the wardrobe?” I asked.

_Knock._

“Did you live here?”

_Knock._

“Do you know Alice?”

_Knock knock._

My shoulders sank. I tried to think of the next question I had that could be answered with a yes or a no.

“Did you die here?”

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

_Knock._

The breath caught cold in my throat. I was possessed with a need to know more. “Were you very old?”

_Knock knock._

“Young?”

_Knock._

“Is there something dangerous in this house?” I asked, inching closer. There was no response. “Sara? Is the house safe?”

_Knock. Knock._

My fears were correct. “Is Alice still here?” I dared. “Alice? Can you hear me?” I waited for a response, but nothing returned.

I pressed my hand to the wardrobe doors and gave a sigh. “Thank you, Sara.” I returned to bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, feeling more pensive than before and uneasy.

The house wasn’t safe. Hadn’t Alice once thought so, too? She’d had a bad feeling since the first night with the thumping in the attic, and the way neither of us had been able to get past the door.I wondered what could possibly be so unsafe about an empty house and all the things that could go wrong in it.

Then again, it had seemed like a safe house when we came the first time; Alice was proof enough that nothing good could come of this blasted house.

I tossed fitfully in bed, unable to fall asleep with all that weighed heavy on my mind. Finally, I got up and went to the door, making my way down the hall to the study. I scanned the desk, looking for one book in particular; a green one, with a navy blue binding. I quietly and carefully searched through the drawers until I procured what I was looking for. A book Alice had shown me before.

The diary of Vanessa Percy.

I slipped back out into the dark hallway, careful of my step as I traipsed back to my room with the book in tow. There surely had to be answers somewhere in this house, and I might just as well begin with Viola’s book. I lit the gas lamp at the bedside again and cradled the book in my lap, starting with the very first entry. After four or five of them, I began to skip ahead, looking for more details that might bring me some kind of answer, though I knew not which one I sought.

I wore my way through a fourth of the diary unsure of what I’d been intending to find. I yawned and glanced at the clock on the mantle.

Nearly midnight.

I turned the book over and slipped it into the drawer at the bedside, snuffing out the lamp and laying on my side. As my body relaxed, I coughed and checked once again for signs of blood. Then I heard the familiar “THUMP” from overhead.

“Sara?” I sat up again. “Is there someone in the attic?”

 _Knock_.

Disquieted, I bit my lip, unsure of what I could possibly do to remedy these nightly assaults to my own peace. How ever could I reconcile this place? It had taken—continued to take, and consume and rip its way through—everything.


	14. Part Two

**ALICE**

I’d been itching to get back to the library for further research, but Evanelle kept me occupied outdoors for a whole week before such a thing happened again. On Saturday, a sheet of rain fell over Blackwater House, forcing us to stay indoors, for which I was exceedingly grateful. Not only because it meant I could do what I felt in my heart that I must, but also because Evie seemed to have thoroughly exhausted herself.

On my encouragement, she decided to lay down awhile in the afternoon. I wasted no time in returning to the study and scanned the shelves for anything and everything that might point me in the direction of an answer for the unexplained events that had occurred since our arrival.

I located a scrapbook of a sort belonging to Eloise White—Evanelle’s great grandmother. Nothing about it seemed immediately eye-catching, but as I flipped through the pages, I encountered sketches—presumably done in Eloise’s hand. They appeared to be a family; an oldest daughter, three brothers, and a younger sister. I compared this to the family tree and deduced that they were Eloise, three younger brothers, including William Percy, and a younger sister.

Saved between sketches were accounts of daily life, which didn’t seem out of the ordinary for any other young woman.

She seemed a girl just like any other, like myself or Evanelle, even. I guessed by the few entries she was quite young, not yet a young woman. It gave rather the image of who young Eloise had been; bright, with an infectious spirit and a common love of feminine things.

Toward the end though, the lighthearted nature of the volume changed. Beautifully drawn pictures of a family bore black holes of charcoal over the face of a small girl.

On the very last page was a brief script:

_She’s gone now. Home to God. My poor, sweet little girl._

I paled, searching the page for a date or some sign of what Eloise must be talking about. Her mother? An Aunt? I glanced at the family tree. Sara?

I pushed the books away and rubbed my brow, another dead end lying ahead in the maze. My head ached something fiercely—probably the lack of sleep, I imagined.

“What are you looking for?”

I spun on my heel to find Evanelle in the doorway. “I…”

“What a mess,” she chuckled, still rosy with sleep. “What is all of this?”

I blushed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Vanessa’s diary,” I confessed.

She entered the room and picked carefully through what I’d left open on the table: the end of Vanessa’s diary, Eloise’s entry about Sarah, the family tree, and the ledgers. She plucked through the selection I’d accumulated, examining bindings and covers.“Well isn’t this cozy afternoon reading,” she grimmaced.

“How much do you know about it?” I asked.

“I’ve never heard of these relatives. Not distinctly,” she said, fishing the family tree up from the center.

“But the house belonged to your Aunt, didn’t it?”

“Mina, yes. My father had no need of it and his brother passed away overseas,” Evie said. “It did always seem like such a large house for only one woman.”

I frowned. “She didn’t have children.”

Evie shook her head. “Couldn’t.She was married briefly when she was our age, but I think he died of typhus? My father said it broke her heart.”

I chewed at the tender skin on the inside of my cheek. “I just wish there were more.”

Evanelle gave a shrug. “Grim topic. Not very relaxing. Why bother?”

I went to the window rubbing my eyes. “It’s… I don’t know, it just feels related? It’s a strange house. And the thumping at night…”

“You think it’s a strange house?” she asked, joining me.

I gave her a weary glance. “Most of the people on that tree have died.”

“That’s not strange, Alice, that’s the natural course of life,” she laughed.

“Did you look at the ages? Most didn’t survive to be 35.”

“Those were different times. They weren’t so advanced as we are now.”

“I want to get into that attic,” I said.

She studied me. “There isn’t a key,” she said.

“Then I’ll cut the door down.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” She smiled at me like I was an incorrigible teenager, but I was serious. Deadly serious. This house had secrets and I meant to uncover them all. And besides, it was a much safer exploit than what my heart truly yearned for.

I dropped into the armchair. I hadn’t been sleeping well over the past weeks and worried I’d stop seeing sense soon. My eyes wandered again outside to where the rain poured down. It seemed so odd that Evanelle would recover so beautifully and I should fall to ruin, but then, she’d always been the more naive of the two of us.

Evanelle perched on my knees and looked into my eyes. “Surely it isn’t pressing,” she said, looking rather coquettish. The top buttons of her blouse were (distractingly) undone.

“No, I suppose not,” I sighed. _But it would put my mind at ease to know more_ , I thought.

Her hands were delicate and soft on my face. “Then let’s busy our minds with other things.”

I wondered what could possibly have possessed her. Her interest in being so close concerned me; I knew she had better sense than that, and a husband she cared deeply for. She seemed as willful as she’d been when we were girls and I wondered if I ought not to be the responsible party, even though I would’ve liked to cave in to her whims.

Someone had to save her from herself, didn’t they?

“We shouldn’t do this,” I sighed and looked away.

“You don’t want to?” she asked, her finger tracing the edge of the cameo around my throat. She looked up at me through her long, dark lashes.

I reached for her hand and kissed it. “More than anything,” I said. “But wanting something doesn’t mean it should be had.”


	15. Part Two

EVANELLE

I found myself in the library, motivated with renewed vigor to relocate everything Alice had found and perhaps more. There was Vanessa Percy’s diary and Eloise White’s scrapbook, but little else to go on. I resorted to pulling each book off the shelf, paging through it and putting it back for the better part of the morning. Arthur found me out soon enough.

“It can’t be _that_ difficult to find something interesting to read,” he smiled, leaning against the ingress.

“Not really looking for a good book,” I said, turning back to my pursuits.

“Then what are you looking for?” Arthur asked.

I stepped down from the ladder with a book that had something written in the margins. I coughed on the dust and sat in a chair at the table. “Alice had worries about Blackwater House and its history. I thought I might feel better if I laid them to rest.”

He seemed to give it thought before speaking. “I suppose as long as it doesn’t hinder your health…” he decided.

I bristled at the idea but took a deep breath and reached for his hand to squeeze. “I think it’ll help. I really do.” I insisted once again. “I think I might rest better if I can find what she was looking for.”

He squeezed my shoulder as I reached for Eloise’s book. I wanted him to leave me, but instead, he took up where I’d left off on the ladder, picking through books. “What is it we’re looking for?” he asked.

“Third shelf down,” I said. “I already went through all those. And anything handwritten or with writing in it. I think more exists than just these,” I rested a hand on the diary and the scrapbook. “I’m sure it’s all very well-hidden.”

He nodded and set about looking through other books.

After an hour, we’d amassed fifty or so leads and had begun to pick through them all, but the dust became a bother and I choked on it as I coughed.

“How about we take lunch outside?” Arthur suggested. “We can come back to this later.”

I agreed, following him out and down the stairs. The fresh air outside really did do me a great deal of good.

Mildred brought out bowls of stew, piping hot in the cool autumn air.

“Mildred, what do you know of Blackwater House?” Arthur ventured.

Hastily my eyes met his and I blanched. Mildred turned slowly back toward us.

“Some, I suppose,” she said. “Mostly just the things they whisper about in Blackfriar.”

Blackfriar. The little town just beyond the gate. “What sort of things?” I asked.

She chuckled. “Nothing you ought to bother yourself with,” she said. “Ghost stories and tall tales. You can hardly call such things truth or history—they’re much too fantastic to believe.”

“Regale us, won’t you?” Arthur said in that charming way that had ensnared me early on. He offered her his chair and moved in next to me, resting his hand on mine.

She took her time to begin, choosing her place to start with care. “They call it the house of tragedy,” she said. “It wasn’t always that, I don’t think. But it goes as far back as living memory.”

We waited with baited breath.

“I suppose it started further back than your father, dear. His grandmother’s relatives, perhaps. Eloise. She had three brothers and a sister,” Mildred said. “Eloise, Jack, Paul, William, and Sara.”

“They’re all on the family tree upstairs,” I confirmed.

“Yes well, it’s said that Jack was a sickly boy, not so unlike yourself, Ma’am. That’s why they made the place their home. He died at just sixteen from consumption, or so they say. And the next, Paul, wasn’t even three when he went to God.”

“How?” I asked.

Mildred shrugged. “It’s not clear. Some say it was an accident, some say he was ill too.”

“And…what of Sara?” I asked, feeling particularly weak after communing with her ghost the previous night.

“Died young as well. Awful story, that one. I don’t believe you would want to hear it.”

I leaned in closer. “It’s very important.” Arthur looked at me with scrutiny. “She was my family,” I countered. “I should know.”

Mildred hesitated. “They said she was touched. She was just a little girl… No one really knows how or why, but it seemed…quite violent.”

I wordlessly implored her to continue; I took up her hand.

“She started to have…fits? Or something like. Some say she was possessed by the devil.”

That certainly aligned with what Eloise had had to say. “How did she die?” I asked again, shivering with adrenaline and fear.

“You must understand, it was a different time…” Mildred shook her head. “There were no asylums for children.”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed.

“What happened?” I asked again.

“They thought it was a lack of discipline. She was locked in the wardrobe in her room for punishment. I don’t know much more than that.”

“The wardrobe. Upstairs?” I blanched.

“I expect so, ma’am,” Mildred frowned.

A chill raced down my spine.

“It’s difficult to know the particulars when they were so long ago. You must understand, we don’t talk about it.”

I bit my lip and prepared my next question. “And…Vanessa and William?” I asked.

She turned stark white. “Why ever would you want to know anything about that?” I was shocked into silence by how abruptly her demeanor had gone from grim to alarmed. She shook her head. “No. We don’t talk about the Percy family. It’s a stain on Blackfriar.”

I opened my mouth to speak again, but Arthur squeezed my hand and cut in before I could say anything. “We are so sorry to have distressed you, Mildred. We are very grateful you’d share any of this with us at all.”

I pursed my lips and nodded like an obedient wife, but I desperately wanted to know more. There was much left to say and I needed to know, but I couldn’t very well ask with Arthur to remind me of propriety.

She nodded and stood back up, smoothing her apron over her skirts and headed back toward the greenhouse. “I suppose,” she said, turning around once again to face us. “If you must know, you might ask the Vicar in town? He was quite young when all of this occurred, but he may still remember.”

I bowed my head in thanks, but I suddenly felt quite faint.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked when she’d gone.

I inhaled a breath of the ocean air. “I think I need to lie down,” I told him. “Can you help me to bed, please?”

He obliged me, but as we stood, I turned my gaze up to the window, where a pale little girl in white kept vigil.

I collapsed into Arthur as the world went black.


	16. Part Three

ALICE

Evanelle wasn’t feeling well and I suspected the rain had everything to do with it. It had poured and stormed quite relentlessly for several days. I left her in bed with the promise that I would return soon and headed out on foot to Blackfriar with only an umbrella to shield me from the elements.

In town, I knew not what I hoped to find, but I felt sure as anything that the secrets to Blackwater House didn’t only reside in its walls.

On the outskirts of Blackfriar, I crossed a flock of sheep in their field, shepherded by an elderly man who gave only a passing wave and a grunt.

Next came the church. I went into the little, one-room chapel if not for any other reason than to find some peace in the tide of tumultuous thoughts that had pressed me for the past several days.

I lit a candle for Peter and slid into one of the pews, unsure of what I had hoped to gain from such an exercise.

Only one other person occupied a pew and he left shortly after I’d come. If I’d been half-smart, I’d have gone to confession for the unclean thoughts that possessed me when Evanelle and I were alone.

But God and I had long since divorced each other. He was now a mere thought for entertainment and I did not fear Him as I ought. Not any longer.

“You seem restless, child,” said the Vicar. He was an elderly man, with a sunken brow, gaunt face, and reed-like frame.

I grimaced at his remarks. “Not sleeping very well these days, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you carry a heavy conscience,” he suggested.

I nodded, but couldn’t say anything further. I gazed at the cross behind the altar where the crucified Jesus wore a face as agonized as I felt.

“You aren’t from Blackfriar, are you?” he asked, sitting beside me.

“No,” I shook my head. “Just visiting. I’ve come with a friend to Blackwater House. She’s not well.”

“I shall keep her in my prayers,” he smiled. “And you as well.” He stood from the pew and made his way around.

“Father, do you know of it?” I asked. He turned back to me. “Blackwater House. Do you know of it?”

He nodded. “Some. A very…fabricated, half-true variant, I suppose.”

“What does the name Vanessa Percy mean to you?” I asked.

His face turned ashen. “Not good things, I’m afraid.”

“So I gather,” said I, looking into my hands where a rosary probably should’ve been.

“The Percies died. Rather unfortunate circumstances,” the Vicar said.“The husband committed a grave sin. Took his own life in the attic.”

A chill ran down my spine. “And his wife?”

“Found her several months later. Washed ashore.”

“She drowned?” I asked. The ocean suddenly seemed less relaxing.

The Vicar gave a somber nod. “I’m told she was with child.”

Of course she was. But I was beginning to wonder what the whole story might be. I pursed my lips. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll be on my way.”

“All are welcome, my child,” he smiled in a serene manner and headed for the altar, crossing himself as his eyes fell upon the cross.

I didn’t linger, all intent of my former mission drained away. I headed back the way I’d come, the rain picking up. I was thoroughly covered in mud by the time I reached the sodden, wooded path that led to the gates and pushed my way through to the grounds. Soaked to the skin, I stared up at the menacing spectre of Blackwater House, seeing past its idyllic veil of ivy for the house of horrors it truly was.

I pushed through the heavy front doors and began the process of shirking my outer layers as Evanelle came down the stairs.

“Where did you get off to? You look a fright,” she said.

“I needed to walk and clear my head,” I replied, peeling the last layer before my corset and knickers away with a shudder.

“Alright, well, you stay there. I’ll be back.”

She returned some minutes later with towels and a robe and hauled my dirty clothes off to the wash.

"I'm going to put the kettle on while you dry up," Evie said.

I took myself upstairs heading to the bathroom; at the top of the stairs, I noticed the flicker of lightening glow through the foyer. I'd returned home at the perfect time--not a moment too soon.

I made my way to the bathroom, the cool tile on my feet making me shudder all over again. I buffed at my skin with the towel, trying to bring warmth back into my limbs. I stripped out of the rest of my clothes and changed into dry things. The rain splattered against the bathroom windows as the thunder rolled. I looked into the mirror, paying attention to myself for the first time in days. Perhaps weeks, now. How long had it been since we'd come?

My eyes were ringed dark from the lack of sleep. Had I looked this unkept the whole time? Or was the house beginning to take its toll? Such a laughable notion. We’d come on the pilgrimage for wellness, and here I stood, as gaunt as a phantom. I turned away from my reflection and hastily cinched a dry corset tight around me.

Once dressed, I turned back around to ensure I was set to right. From the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the hallway through the crack in the door. I pushed it open and glanced on either end of the hall. "Evie?" I called, expecting her to respond. When she didn't I stood there a moment, trying to make sense of what I thought I'd seen.

Out of curiosity, I made my way to the end of the hall. My fingertips brushed the knob of the attic door and finally grasped it, turning it without expectation. It still didn't give.

I stooped low and peeked an eye into the keyhole. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room on the other side for the briefest of moments. A wide, dark eye filled the keyhole.

I couldn't silence the scream as I stumbled backward over myself, tripping on the rug and my skirts, shaking.

"Alice?" Evanelle appeared behind me.

"There's someone in the attic. Evie, there's someone in the attic." I scrambled down the hall toward the stairs.

"Alice, wait. What did you see?" she followed me.

"An eye. I saw an eye. Someone is up there, Evanelle. I want to leave."

"Stay here," Evie said from the landing, returning to the upstairs hallway. She was gone for a few minutes before she returned. "I didn't see anything," she confirmed.

"I know what I saw," I insisted. "I know what I saw!” My heart raced in my chest.

"I believe you," she said, approaching me with caution. "I think you saw something. But I don't think anyone is up there, Alice. I don't know how anyone could possibly be. It's just not possible."

I scowled, mainly to myself.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she whispered. "Do you feel alright?"

I wasn't at all sure I did.


	17. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

We were standing on the parapet in our nightshirts, the breeze blowing through us. She wouldn’t look at me, and every time I stepped closer, she stepped further away.

“Alice stop,” I begged. “Come back to bed.”

The balmy summer air turned suddenly cold. This didn’t feel right.

Overhead the clouds rolled in and I worried what it meant if we stood out here much longer. “Alice, please, it’s going to rain and we’ll both catch our deaths.” The tide was picking up, sweeping and violent.

It was as if she didn’t hear me. She made her way for the stone steps.

I ran after her and caught her wrist. “Don’t go.”

She turned to me, not really seeing, and grabbed my arm, dragging me down to the beach with her as I tried to wrestle myself free. My heart beat fast with uncertainty. “What are we doing? The tide, Alice, it’s too high and the rocks are too slick.” I begged, but she wouldn’t speak. A jagged rock sliced through my foot as we stepped into the tow.

She slipped into the water up to her knees and looked over her shoulder at me.

“It’s too cold and the tide is too dangerous,” I reasoned. “Please, can’t we go back inside?” I wouldn’t leave without her, I was sure. Something was wrong and I could feel it.

She caught my hair in the maw of her hand and sharply tugged me into the water, pushing me deep down beneath the surface that seemed to go on forever…

I jerked awake in the dark to the sound of thumping overhead and poked my fingers into the soft flesh of my temples. The clock on the mantle, I was sure, would read 3 o’clock if I stood to check it.

Always on time with that bloody thumping…!

I cast the blankets off and fetched my robe, lit a candle and traipsed silently across the hall to the study and glancing at the mess we’d made earlier.

 _The answers must be here somewhere. Alice—Sara, whoever you are, guide me,_ I thought, setting the candle on the table. I closed my eyes and held my hand over the piles and piles of books, feeling foolish, but willing something to happen.

I ran my hands over the covers of the books and chose one at random, taking up the spot on the chaise before the window with my candle. I cradled the book in my lap and opened it to the front cover, wondering at what text I’d chosen.

It was a Holy Bible.

I sat back, vexed by the choice. What secrets could be hidden in such a book as this? I turned the thin pages one at a time. It began as all Bibles do with the beginning of all time. The first pages were unremarkable, but then the circles began, specific words chosen by the flourish of an ink pen. At first, the selections seemed random, but then it struck me: the annotator was attempting to say something. I stood and pushed the books on the drawing table aside, reaching for parchment and a pencil, copying the sequence from the beginning.

We…will die… God… deceived me…he…cursed…the plants of the field… Not allowed to reach out… Blood cries out from the ground…and…will kill me. I… will kill…will suffer. Full of violence. I am…going…to destroy all life.

I examined the list and skimmed the rest of the book. Somewhere around three quarters in, it turned from circled sections into dark drawings, some blacking out the entire page until none of the text could be read. Awful drawings of dark rooms with demons lurking in their corners, teeth as sharp as blades and claws that reached themselves out from the page, and finally I reached the last of them where a messily scrawled message covered the pages.

“ALL WILL BURN.”

My candle snuffed out and a chill swept over the room. I pulled my robe closer and though I was not as God-fearing as I ought to have been, I said a prayer and crossed myself.The house seemed unnaturally quiet and still.

I didn’t care for what it meant. Didn’t appreciate the house’s little tricks; I’d seen them before--and it loved a good little trick…

Footsteps thumped the floor overhead—a steady, measured pace that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The thumps grew further away; I stood from the table and pulled the robe tighter to my shoulders, peering out into the hall with utmost caution.

At the end of the hall, the attic door gave a groan and gave egress.

I moved into the corridor and stared at the opening, clenching and unclenching a fist.

An invitation. A welcome. A beckoning.

The same as it had offered Alice.

That’s the thing I’d learned, you see, in all of this. Blackwater House hungered. It fed on misery and delighted in creating it. It preyed on joy and vulnerability and hope.

I could see it now. All so clear as a summer’s day. This was its purpose, and I understood mine.

My eyes burned and my jaw clenched tight as I approached that open door. One careful step at a time.

She had wanted so badly to know what was up there. Had gone mad in her final days with the desire to know.

 _That’s the difference between us_ , Alice used to say, _I’m much more stubborn than you._

I stood in the cracked doorway. “You’re right, Alice,” I whispered to nothing and no one. “You were always much more stubborn.” I reached for the knob, traced the ornate pattern in the handle and let my eyes spill over.

“I have learned from the best.”

I pulled the door closed.

Let whatever—or whomever—made its home in the attic do its worst. It had already taken everything from me and I would not quietly allow it to take more.


	18. Part Three

**ALICE**

The rain didn’t let up.

Two weeks had gone by in varying degrees of drizzle to downpour. In either case, it was much too wet to venture outside. We watched from the study as the gardens were reduced to swamplands.

“I fear I shall die of boredom,” Evie moaned from the chaise, resting her book on her face. “How long can it possibly go on?” she asked. “What good is a rest cure if one can’t get any fresh air?”

“It’ll pass eventually, Ophelia,” I reminded her. “All things do, in time.”

“My eyes are going to cross permanently,” she insisted.

I snorted. “They are if you continue to read like that.”

She pulled the book off her face and propped herself up. “Don’t be so unkind,” she pouted at me.

“Dear, have you ever known me as anything less?” I laughed in retort.

She flopped back once again. “I am tired of reading books.”

“Honestly,” I chortled. “You are worse than a child. Go tend something in the greenhouse. The air will do you good.”

“Nothing to tend,” she said. “I did that yesterday.”

“Then have a nap,” I suggested again.

She gave a resigned sigh.

“Well alright then, how’s about you go find the key to the attic since we haven’t turned the house inside out yet?”

“And where exactly do you propose I look?” Evie asked.

“Anywhere. The sitting room, the drawers in the bedrooms. I’m sure there are plenty of places where it could be.”

"I've a better idea," she sat up and looked over to me with a face I knew well.

"Oh no, don't you start. I don't know what you're thinking, but nothing born of that expression is ever a valuable use of one's time."

She frowned. "You aren't any fun at all."

"I'm your chaperone, what did you expect," I laughed. "Chaperones are not supposed to be fun, if you recall."

She scoffed at me and flopped back. "I wish we could go to the beach," she said.

"Close your eyes and pretend we're there. What are we doing?" I asked.

She heeded my instruction and thought for a moment. "Playing on the edge of the tide. Barefoot with the sun to warm us."

"And how is the weather?" I asked.

"Blissfully warm. Too warm for stockings and petticoats."

"Are you wearing a hat?" I asked. "Protect that lovely complexion," I cautioned.

She giggled, "Yes, alright. I've got my sun hat and we're running along the beach."

"Running? You must be feeling wonderfully well," I said, paging through the volume in front of me.

"I am, and you feel well too. And we've a picnic set up on the shore."

"What did we bring for lunch?" I asked. "I think I'm hungry."

"Sandwiches and teacakes. And fresh strawberries from the kitchen garden. Berries from the woods."

"That's lovely. When we're tired of running?"

"We go back to the blanket and collapse from the exhaustion."

"Sounds quite nice, doesn't it?" I asked, turning another page. The margin is written in, but the script is tiny and difficult to make out.

"I wish it was real," she sighed.

We sat in silence for a few minutes; I reached for the magnifying glass to make sense of the notes in my book. They turned out to be little more than notations about the text itself. "Do you miss Arthur?" I asked. "Perhaps you ought to write him?" I suggested.

"But who would come to collect it in all this?" she asked.

"When the weather is better, of course."

I watched her stand and head for the door. "I'm going to find something to busy myself with."

"Be careful. You're in a mood that doesn't always bode the best choices," I squeezed her hand.

"Yes, nanny," she said, making a face as she stalked out into the hallway.

I pushed the book aside, convinced it held nothing of interest and added it to the discard pile, picking another from the top of the stack.

This one too, proved useless. I'd been through a dozen or so that held little in the way of the answers I sought. I sat back and wondered if there was anything at all in these volumes to be of use to my cause. I stretched my back and arms, sitting back. The air in the study was noticeably cool. I glanced over to the fireplace and considered putting another log on, but with no end to the rain in sight, it hardly seemed prudent. We'd have to start rationing what we had for firewood if the rain didn't let up in a day or two. I went across the hall to my room and found my shawl at the foot of the bed, wrapping it around myself. Something behind gave a gentle creek. The wardrobe door hung agape by a narrow crack. I went to it and pushed it closed, heading back in the direction of the study. Another creak stopped me in my tracks and I turned to find the wardrobe door once again open.I went back to it and hesitated, but pushed it closed again, stepping back two paces to see if it happened again. Satisfied it wouldn't I headed back out to the hall, cursing the damned house and its peculiarities. I'd be glad to be short of this place, whenever that happened. It would likely be sooner than later, if the rain ever let up.

I found myself at the study window, glancing at the sad state of affairs that had once been the garden. I wondered if Blackfriar always experienced such a wet stretch as this--wondered in passing if the roof could handle so much water. I exhaled and recounted what I knew thus far.

William Percy had been a landlord to many tenants in town. He held deeds for multiple properties and seemed to have created a prosperous life for himself. It was unclear if this was a wealth inherited from his father, or if it was something he. himself had made. It was clear that he inherited Blackwater House as the sole surviving male heir, which appeared not to last. He had two sisters, one of whom lead directly to Evanelle, the other who died tragically as a girl. I didn't know what else to make of the Percies yet. I had figured out a timeline of Vanessa's life over the course of the year and a half in which she had journaled, but I knew little else beyond what she'd given me. Beyond what the Vicar had given me. I couldn't tell exactly when she'd died.

When the rain stopped, I would search for her headstone, wherever it may be. And William's too. Sara's.

I returned to my chair after prodding the fire, shawl wrapped tightly around me. The study still seemed cool--cooler than before, even. A feeling--not dread, exactly, but unease--came over me that I couldn't shake. A feeling that something was about to happen.

I left the study and traipsed down the stairs. "Evie?" I called in the foyer, wondering where she must've gotten to.

She did not make herself known.

I had no other choice but to wander from room to room, seeking her out. "Evie? Where are you?" I called, beginning to feel fraught. How was it possible that I could lose her in the house? I raced into the kitchen and found no sign of her, but the door to the cellar was open. "Evie? Are you down there?" I called down the stony steps.

There was no answer.

“This isn’t funny…” It was difficult to absolve myself of the panic that shook my voice. “Evanelle, I am closing this door.”

And then I made the worst mistake I’d made yet.

I stepped down onto the second stair and the door swung shut behind me.


	19. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

I sat on the top stair in the light of day opposite the door to the attic, studying it as a war strategist studies his opponent.

“What are you doing up there?” Arthur asked with a kind smile from the landing of the staircase.

I tried to offer him the same, “Lost in thought,” I said, reaching for his hand as he joined me. _The attic taunts me_ , I wanted to tell him, but he’d surely think I was on the verge of succumbing again.

“You’re very quiet these days,” he said. “Are youalright?”

I rested my head against the bannister. My jaw twitched. “I’m so happy to be here with you.” I closed my eyes, “I am grateful to have you.” I squeezed his hand tighter. _It hurts to be here._

“Pleasant weather today,” Arthur said looking down the stairs into the light-laden foyer. “Fancy a stroll? On the beach perhaps.”

“Now?” I asked. After the night before, and the books, the very idea had been forgotten to me.

“Now, later, whenever you’re up to it. Thought it might be better than sitting in this dusty, old mausoleum all day.”

I conceded, it was a grand idea. If I spent any more time inside, I worried I might well succumb to whatever disease seemed to possess the inhabitants of this wretched place and be lost for good. “I shall go and change at once,” I said, lifting from my place on the stair to the bedroom.

I entered and stopped for a moment, taking in the sight of it with the sun shining in through the windows, the walls with their pale color soothing.

I could picture Alice at the vanity, brushing her hair and turning to greet me, _“We’ll go to the beach today, Ophelia,”_ she’d say.

I reached for the buttons at the nape of my neck and unfastened them, loosed my skirts, and opened the wardrobe.

An arm reached blindly out with a clawing grasp and gave me a start, tripping on my hem.

“Evie?” Arthur appeared in the doorway and found me on the floor. “Are you alright?”

I stared at the wardrobe a minute more and then looked to him. “There was a moth,” I said. “It startled me,” I gave an insincere laugh as he offered me a hand.

I rose and pulled something suitable from the wardrobe while Arthur busied himself opening windows.

“It really is a spectacular view,” he said.

“Yes, quite,” I said, smiling over my shoulder as I removed my clothes down to the shift and put on the new ones.

His eyes turned to me and watched me dress.

“Would you mind—“ I turned and gestured to the buttons.

Arthur approached, obliging and placing a kiss on my bare shoulder. “It’s good to see you recovering. Perhaps we’ll be able to return to the city soon after all.”

“I’d like that,” I admitted as his hands worked up from the small of my back. “I miss our home.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I do rather miss the bank. And our friends.”

I flinched and turned.

He looked stricken, “I didn’t mean—“

I shook my head and swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. “No, no. It’s…very isolated here.” I agreed. I hated this place, but I was finding I might never be able to extract Alice’s memory from it. The two would be linked forever. I looked down at the floor, feeling my face flush hot.

Arthur lifted my chin with a finger and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “I love you very much, Evanelle. My only desire is that you are happy and well, and I would go to the ends of the earth to bring you both.”

I closed the distance between us and rested my head on his shoulder, stung by my own guilt. Would I ever love him as deeply and truly as I’d loved Alice? As she’d loved me?

“We waste the day, my love,” he whispered in my ear after a moment, taking my hand in his.

“Then let us not dwell inside any longer,” said I, and we ventured out into the hall together.

The tide was calm and constant on the rocky shore as we walked arm in arm for a while to the far end. Arthur spread a canvas tarpaulin over the smoothest surface he could find for me to sit while he skipped stones.

I lost myself in the ebb and flow of the ocean, lulled by the gently rocking water. Eventually, Arthur came to sit, resting his head in my lap. I smiled down upon him, my fingers running through his hair.

“Is it everything you were hoping it would be?” he asked.

“It’s lovely. You were sweet to think of it,” I said.

“Have I missed something?” he asked in earnest.

My smile faltered.“No, of course not.”

“You know, you’ve never said what happened. When you and Alice were here, I mean.”

“Yes I did, I told you before—“

He shook his head. “No you didn’t. You said Alice died here. But you never said how. You never told me what those weeks were like.”

I looked back out at the water. He was right. I’d told him the bare minimum of the truth. “It was hell,” I said simply. “All of it.”

Arthur sat up. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked, something akin to hurt behind his eyes.

“More than I have ever trusted anyone,” I said. “I only aim to protect you.”

“Would you tell me? Please?” he asked. “I can tell it’s a great source of pain for you. Perhaps it would hurt less if you had someone to carry it too.”

My hand slipped out of his and I looked away. “You’ll think it mad. Some of it is beyond imagining.”

“I want to know,” Arthur said.

My eyes met his. “It will break your heart.”

“As it’s already broken yours, I expect.”

I inhaled the sea air and took in the sight of the clouds. “The truth then.”


	20. Part Three

**ALICE**

“Evie? Open the door,” I pounded on the basement door, hoping she was on the other side, merely having a lark. Below the stairs something shuffled and splashed. The darkness was unbearable. I tried the door handle again, but it wouldn’t give to let me out.

It was cold and damp, and smelled wet and foul like decay. The faint sound of dripping somewhere in the cellar’s dark recesses hardly seemed benign—we were going to be flooded out of Blackwater House, though from the top or bottom remained to be seen. I hugged my arms and sat on the step. She’d find me eventually, wouldn’t she? I’d just wait on the top step…

But the shuffling from beneath me gave me a nervous feeling that I was, perhaps, not alone.

 _Don’t be silly, probably just a rat,_ I reasoned. But it still didn’t seem all that likely.

I stood in the darkness and felt the walls on either side of me, hands looking for a candle or a lamp to illuminate the stairwell. My hand fell upon a knob of wax and a little tin of matches. I struck the flame and lit the candle, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

It was far darker and much more dank than it had been with no light. Water had flooded up to the second stair from the bottom. I cursed and tried the doorknob again, but it wouldn’t budge. “Evanelle?” I called, wondering if an answer would come at all.

Something moved in the water below—a hand, perhaps? I ventured down a couple of the steps and stooped to see the cellar.

The candle barely illuminated the room and it was difficult to see. The sound of something solid passing through water drew me down further. I heaved my skirts a little higher, my stockings retaining fluid as I stepped down onto the first wet step.

The wood buckled beneath me and I plunged down, catching myself with my hands as I touched the bottom floor. The light of the candle was snuffed as it hit the surface. I turned, my hands groping the damp, stony walls in search of the staircase again when I heard a low cry.

“Evie? Is that you? Are you hurt?”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, but could make out very little. Something grazed my ankle and gave me a start. I stopped, frozen for the moment and torn about what I should do.

If she were down here and had been hurt, then she must be rescued and time was of the essence.

I squinted, searching the cellar for any sign of movement, feeling the walls for any other sources of light. A narrow little hallway led to what I could feel was the wine cellar and I stopped at a dead end, listening. Something solid rocked gently against my knees and I groped to make out what it was.

Fabric. Buttons…

 _Hair_.

“Evie!” Surely it was her. I dragged her up out of the water and pressed her to me, wiping the wet hair from her face. “Come on, don’t do this… You can’t…” I made my way out of the cellar, splashing and sloshing with the weight of her body pressed to my chest. I needed to get her up the stairs. “Come on,” I found the railing and stepped over the broken stair. Light from the crack beneath the door gave me the first little glimpse at hope I’d had in a few moments.“Evie, stay with me, come on…”

The door ahead opened wide.

“Alice, what are you doing in the cellar? My God!”

I looked up to see Evanelle at the top of the stairs and looked down at the bloated body of the little maid who’d been assisting the housekeeper since we’d arrived. I jerked away from it and tramped up the stairs. Slamming the door shut.

“We can’t leave her down there!” Evie insisted.

“Shall we make her comfortable in the sitting room?” I asked, shouting back. Every nerve in my body vibrated in terror.

“Why would you go down to the cellar?” she shrieked in horror.

“The door was open and I couldn’t find you!”

“What are you talking about? I was in the greenhouse, you saw me,” Evie insisted.

I shook my head, confused, heart still racing. “No. No I didn’t.”

“You looked right at me and you walked away,” she whispered.

“No— No, that can’t be…” I dropped into a chair in the kitchen and heaved a breath. “What is happening?”

“We need to leave,” Evanelle said.

“Yes, I bloody well think we do,” I snapped.

“Don’t be cross with me, coming here was _your_ idea,” she reminded.

“Pack your things, we are leaving tomorrow, come hell or high water,” I said, picking up my sopping skirts and storming up the service stairs to the second floor to clean myself up.

In the bathroom, I shirked my clothes, soiled with dirt and muck. I’d have sooner burned them, I thought, than waste the time to wash them. I scrubbed at my skin until it was red and angry from the effort and lifted the shift over my head.

The sky darkened further, the angry storm that had plagued Blackfriar for weeks showed no signs of halting.I peered out the window at the muddy drive. We hadn’t seen the housekeeper or the maid in a week and we’d thought it was merely the weather.

Night would fall soon and it would be treacherous to leave, as we’d have to go it on foot.

Evanelle appeared in the doorway. “Are you really alright, Alice?” she asked.

“No, I’m not,” I admitted.

“We’ll leave soon,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

“Of course,” I agreed. But we both knew it wasn’t likely.

She stepped into the bathroom and tucked the hair behind my ear. “It’s going to be alright.” My hand rested on hers for a moment just before she left the room. “I’m going to see what I can fix us for supper.”

I ran a comb through my hair and looked at my scowling reflection, hardly recognizing the woman who looked back.


	21. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

He wouldn’t look at me.

He stood up and walked a few paces away. I had no right to demand his attention. I looked away. “Arthur? Will you say something?” I dared.

“Not… Not now, Evanelle. I need to think.” He said and he went off for a walk on his own, leaving me to the ocean. I shrank into myself, unsure of what more I should’ve expected. I didn’t follow after him.

I knew it would be painful when the story started. I knew the risk that he would never forgive me and I’d lose him forever. And I told the truth anyway. Every miserable part of it. Everything we’d seen, everything we’d done. When I’d started to tell it, I felt trust—trust in him and the faith that if I was honest, he might just forgive me in the end. He was a good man, and I’d never known him to be anything else, but I realized then that I maybe was not a good woman.

I didn’t deserve his forgiveness. I’d stay here in hell, I thought, as penance for the awful things I’d done. My heart was breaking a second time and I was the one smashing it to bits.

Alice sat beside me, wordless, matching my gaze out to the horizon. _Just a ghost,_ I told myself. As she’d always be.

I folded the tarpaulin and trudged home. As the house rose from a little blemish on the horizon to a looming monster, I stopped to gaze up at it.

Such a sinister place, made of the very black stone that ran along the shore. In the bright light of the afternoon, the glass of the windows looked white like rows of teeth, the gable of the roof sitting like a nose, and chimneys like an array of horns protruding from the top. A monstrous place if ever I’d seen one, I thought, as I looked up at it.

“Ma’am?” Mildred called from the parapet.

I met her eye and ascended the steps, abandoning the tarpaulin near the table.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

I looked down and away and tried not to cry. I shook my head, afraid to admit it.

She drew me up in her arms and sat me down at the table. “What is it, ma’am?” she asked.

“I think I’m a terrible person,” I confessed.

“No, ma’am, I don’t think that’s true at all—“

“But it is. I’ve done terrible things. _Terrible_ things, and I don’t know how to fix them…”

Her warm hand covered mine. She shook her head and looked me in the eye with a sudden and unexpected ferocity. “No. It’s this place,” she insisted. “You both need to leave, ma’am. It devours and it will not stop until it consumes you both.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I need you to tell me everything you know, Mildred. It’s important.”

“You shouldn’t bother yourself with the truth, you should pack your things and go—“

“Then it’ll continue to happen again and again,” I insisted, grabbing her arm before she could stand and twist away. “My friend died here. My family have died here. I need to know before anyone else gets hurt.”

She sat back. “There is a book in the attic,” she said, reaching into her pocket and producing a key. Mildred placed it on the table. “It holds the answers you seek.” I reached for the key and she slapped her hand down on mine as I reached it. “What will you do? What good will the knowing do?” She asked.

My fingers closed around the key. “I will end it. Once and for all.”

She let her hand off mine and I headed toward the greenhouse door. “Ma’am, I hope you can accept my resignation. I’ll finish out the day.”

I looked at her over my shoulder and gave a nod.

I climbed the stairs, though I could not understand my own haste. At the top I found myself in a standoff, weighing my options, key pressed firmly into my palm.

I could go up there, of my own volition. I could retrieve the book. I could pack my things first.

I looked at the key in my hand, looked to the bedroom where Alice and I had once rested and looked to the attic once more.

It would end because it must.

For Alice.

For Sara.

For Vanessa.

For the Maid.

For the countless unnamed others.

And now it would end with me.

I went to the door with purpose and placed the skeleton key in the lock, turning it to the right. The door swung open effortlessly to a set of stairs with a mild groan of displeasure. Light from the windows above cast a glow into the stairwell before me.

I took the key out of the door and moved softly up each stair, as if a measure of quiet could spare me of some unforeseen harm.

The attic floor was dusty and barren, the unfinished walls draped with cobwebs, and in the middle of the floor was a black, leather book and a wooden chair.

I stooped to pick up the book, brushed the dust from its cover, and marched back out without hesitation, locking the door tight. The book under my arm would tell me everything, I was sure of it. And once I had the answers, I would…

I wasn’t sure what I would do yet, but I was certain of one thing: whatever had a hold on Blackwater House, I would make it pay.

I came back down the stairs and into the foyer, through the sitting room, through the greenhouse, down the stairs of the parapet, and looked at the key in my hand as I stood in the wake of the ocean.

I plucked a rock from the beach, took the ribbon from my hair and secured the key to it, pitching it as far and as hard as I could into the water.

I retraced my steps back to the parapet and sat on the stair to read.


	22. Part Three

**ALICE**

Lightening ripped through the sky. I sat up in bed, watching the sea outside as it raged in time with the storm. The weather showed no sign of abating. The grounds were flooded and slick in parts, and a few of the other rooms held buckets that caught water from their ceilings. That attic and its recesses had become a much more significant ordeal and I was now concerned that if we didn't figure out how to get into the attic, the ceilings might crumble over us as we slept and kill us both. It stormed morning, noon, and night.

We stayed in the library during the days as it tended to be warmer, and it held most of the things we had grown an interest around in the past weeks.

Evie had gone to bed long before I had in the next room over. I found myself as restless as the sea outside. I considered wandering the halls, or venturing into the library to take up the books again until I was thoroughly exhausted, but the shadows on the walls were frightening. The incident in the cellar had shaken me up and made me far less brave. I could still feel the chill of the maid’s wet clothes against mine and gave a shudder.

The bedroom door creaked open. My attention turned at the sound and I caught sight of Evanelle in the doorway. "What is it, Ophelia?" asked I, quickly repairing my nerves for her sake. It would not do to show her I was afraid of the storm or the house, especially when she was the more fragile of the two of us.

Without further invitation, she crept into the room and slid underneath the covers, worry transfixed on her brow. "I wish it would stop," she whispered. "I wish it would clear up and go away."

"All in good time, we just have to ride it out," I assured her with a smile. "It'll pass. Storms always do." I was trying so very hard to remain positive, but it was becoming more and more difficult by the hour. “Tomorrow there’ll be a break in the rain and we’ll go. I’m sure of it.”

She seemed doubtful, not helped by the next blinding flash of lightning and the loud clap of thunder. She shrunk into me as we heard something outside snap and the windows rattled in their panes like chattering teeth. "Did that strike the house?" she asked, worry transfixed on her brow.

It set my teeth on edge. "No...I don't think so," I remarked blindly, but I was hardly certain. Wishful thinking, really. "It'll pass," I nodded. "It'll pass. It can’t last forever.” I couldn’t be sure anymore if I was saying it for her benefit or mine.

"I think we should go home tomorrow," Evie said, clutching my hand. "Really, I think we should. We'll go early..."

"I think it's too muddy," I said. "I doubt if anyone would come for us. We would have to walk to town.”

This did not ease her as we sat in the dark. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” Evanelle whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you holding that—“

I hushed her and pulled her to my breast. I would never forget the shock either, but one of us needed to keep our wits about us. “It’s a terrible thing,” I whispered.

She looked up at me and I stroked her hair, staring into her bright eyes. Her lips met mine, and her hand fell upon my waist. The smell of her was intoxicating and I was tired—so tired—of ignoring my impulses. Nothing made sense in this contemptible place, so why should I bother with reason? My mouth traveled along her neck. "Are you sure?" I asked, the fleeting notion that I should try to save her from herself and rebuff her before she did something she'd regret dangled before me.

She bit her lip and nodded, her lips meeting mine again. I pulled her closer to me, my fingers fumbling with the silk buttons that ran down her breastbone, eager with anticipation. How long had it been since I’d last felt her touch? I reached for the string that held her knickers in place, exploring for the warmth between her legs. She gave a shuddering gasp as my fingers slipped inside, pulling me closer. I kissed her breast and let my lips travel the delicate arc of her neck as my hands worked inside of her, trying to appreciate the look of bliss on her face as she came.

She turned me beneath her, my hand still working as her back arched until she was weak. She recovered quicker than I'd ever seen, fighting with my clothing until I lay bare beneath her, with her lips pressed in between my thighs. We were possessed, determined to know if all the places we used to know by heart still existed. Grasping for something—anything—so long as it wasn’t painful or frightening. It was good to be touched, and to feel her touch when I’d gone so long without. I didn’t care that she was married, I didn’t care that we shouldn’t. The only thing that made any sense at all was the closeness of us, just the way we’d always been.

My Ophelia. My Evanelle. My constant. I grasped the bedframe, my head light with the ecstacy of pleasure and cried out.

Breathless, she emerged from beneath my nightgown and rested on my stomach. We remained quiet and breathless, tangled up in each other. My skin buzzed like bees from the adrenaline. “We should run away,” she whispered.

“What are you talking about?” I chuckled. “We’ll leave soon.”

“No,” she said, and she looked at me. “Not home.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “You can’t. _We_ can’t.”

“But I love you,” she said.

“And I love you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “We’ll always be together,” I insisted.

After she was well asleep, I disentangled myself and went to the bathroom to lie upon the cool tile floor.

What in God’s name had I done?


	23. Part Three

_12 June, 1676_

_I write these words knowing death lingers at the door, awaiting entry. I have invited her in and now she will make her home here forever more. I condemn this house and all who enter it to a life of despair and death, for there can be no other course._

_Penance must be paid._

_If you are reading this volume, then Blackwater House still stands. It is a house of unimaginable horrors the likes of which I do not have the time to detail. You need only know that ancient blood runs through the very soil in this spot. The walls are forged in it, and all who may enter must meet their end to fortify it._

_This is our family’s curse. It began fifty years before now and it is inescapable. The Devil always is._

_Until we meet,_

_Baroness Genevieve Blackwater_

_12 June, 1726_

_They’re all dead, just as she said they would be. Evelyn, May, mother… I have managed to get away from him for the moment, but the minute Father finds me, I am certain I am next._

_It wasn’t always like this, but it is difficult to recall a time before this terror. I think we were happy once. But we shall never be again._

_We were not long for this place. Mama spoke of terrible noises from above. Chants and thumps, but every time she looked, there was no one and nothing in the attic._

_Father has been spending all of his time in the dark in the cellar. He says he can think more clearly down there. But he doesn’t look well at all. He is so very angry all the time. He drowned May in the tide to silence her crying while Evelyn screamed at him to stop and then he bashed Evelyn’s head in with a rock until she no longer had a face._

_I was hiding in the bushes, or I’m sure he would have done me next._

_They are still on the beach now. The crows are pecking at their eyes._

_Mother is in bed, cold as ice, and father is in the basement._

_I wonder if I hide long enough if he’ll simply forget me?_

_But I don’t know that there’s anything left living for. Aunt Odille and Uncle Randall may come for me yet, but I hope they don’t. He would probably kill them too._

_I hear his footsteps now. He calls my name._

_I think this is the end._

_If the house still stands after me, run. Run fast and run far. Nothing survives this place._

_Adieu,_

_Charles Barrow, age twelve_

_12 June, 1730_

_Papa has killed her._

_No one has spoken a word since._

_She was just a little girl, only nine. But she burned with such rage, always so angry, my poor Sara. She was not the same after mother died. Nor was father. This blasted house…_

_Jack and Paul went first, then mother’s poor heart broke and she never recovered, so it’s only me now, and Father, and William._

_Just the other day, I think of what Sara said: “We will all die here.” And I’m sure she was right, so if it isn’t too late, I’ve packed some things and I’ll be going as soon as it seems safe. I don’t know what will become of William, or of father. But it is as my father’s cousin described in the previous entry: this is a poisonous place. Those who do not leave will perish._

_I do not understand how it does these awful things. It is beyond imagining, but I am sure that it’s the house that does it. It sounds like madness, but there is something here—older than I can fathom, that feeds on fear and death._

_I believe it is a conduit for such things, but I know not how it came to be one. Only that it is, and it won’t stop. It cannot be stopped._

_My poor Sara._

_I couldn’t save her, but I might be able to save myself. I hope you do the same._

_Sincerely,_

_Eloise Percy_

_12 June, 1748_

_My children are dead. Nothing good can possibly grow here._

_William delights in my pain, I am sure. I never believed him to be so malicious. He is deeply paranoid and unhinged. He accuses me regularly of affairs with the groundskeeper. He is cruel at every opportunity and spends all his waking time in the cellar or the attic._

_I would worry for him, but I have borne his vicious assaults against me far too many times to have any sympathy for the man I vowed to love, honor, and obey._

_The servants turn their eyes away when he strikes me and pretend as if they do not see their master’s unkindness. I am not angry with them, they are merely protecting themselves, for I am certain he would do worse to them if they interfered._

_I would like to beg Anthony to prepare a boat and take me as far away from this wretched place. He remains the only soul who is kind to me, but I fear it will be at a great cost to us both._

_William seems a man possessed these days. I am sure he was not always like this. If the words of his sister before me are to be believed, then I am to die unless I find a way out._

_I can hear things in the walls. I thought I was going mad at first, but I can hear them._

_Whispers._

_They tell me things I can’t make out._

_God save my soul._

_Vanessa Percy_

_12 June, 1776_

_I understand now, why Mother ran away. I understand why she left it all behind and never looked back. And I am so sorry I didn’t listen to her._

_But James and I…we were desperate. We didn’t have a choice._

_I have lost the baby, and now I am losing James. And before long, I will be lost too._

_It cannot be stopped and it will kill again. I am neither the first, nor the last._

_Run._

_Winnifred Cotter_

_12 June, 1820_

_I am the longest surviving woman of the house. Had my husband survived, I doubt if we would have lasted so long._

_This is what I know:_

_Long ago, a great deal of blood was spilled across the shore in an act of violent sacrifice to the devil himself. Seven pregnant women and their unborn infants slaughtered by Lucian Blackwater. Born the second son, he was never the pride of his father and sought to make a name and a place for himself, and what he desired best of all was power._

_He is the one responsible for the horrors, and I am the keeper of the house’s history._

**_Baroness Genevieve Blackwater_ ** _\- slaughtered by her husband in the dining room_

**_Baron Ignotius Blackwater_ ** _\- hung himself in the attic_

**_Charles Barrow_ ** _\- grandson of Ignotius, strangled by his father John after the previous murders of his mother Aleta, and sisters Evelyn and May Barrow_

_Next, Amelia and Edgar Percy inherited the home from Edgar’s parents, Odille and Randal. A wedding gift for their (clearly not too treasured) son._

**_Amelia Percy_ ** _\- dead of heartbreak after the deaths of her sons, Jack and Paul, from illness, s urvived temporarily by her husband, daughters Eloise and Sara, and son William._

**_Sara Percy_ ** _\- locked in her wardrobe by her father and left to starve to death_

**_Vanessa Percy_ ** _\- dragged out to sea aboard a rowboat against her will, weighted down with chains and a rock and tossed overboard to drown by husband William, who would later hang himself in the attic._

_Then my aunt Winnifred, newly married to escape scrutiny of pre-marital childbearing._

_And now me._

_I have devoted my life to Blackwater House and the careful extraction of this history. If you are reading this now, you have one task and one alone: end it. Do as I could not._ _The house is strong. You must be stronger._

_Be brave,_

_Mina Cartwright-Simpson_


	24. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

I closed the book, my heart hammering hard in my ears. The sun had vanished from the sky and the darkness of night was closing in.I looked up to the house behind me with new eyes and then back to the book.

A sudden ill feeling struck me, like the change of the weather, no true reason for it. It was like an invading sickness and a feeling of being watched all at once. 

I stood, but hesitated to go further. What would I do next? Where was Arthur?

Arthur…

I needed to find him and I was desperately afraid for either of us to be alone knowing now how volatile a place it was.

It couldn’t have him too.

I raced inside, scanning the halls and rooms for him. Surely he wasn’t still out for a walk. I hurried up the stairs to the second floor. “Arthur?” I called.

The light of day was fading fast and we needed to leave. Now.

Firelight danced out into the hallway from the study. Up ahead, the attic door stood slightly ajar and it made my blood run cold.

“Arthur?”

He stood before the books we’d pulled down, Vanessa Percy’s diary in his hand as he flipped through the pages.

“Are you alright?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Arthur?” I approached him with caution. I’d never seen him angry before and didn’t know what it looked like. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he promptly struck me with the book.

I sat on the floor, momentarily stunned before I looked back up at him. He didn’t look like himself.

“This isn’t you. This is the house,” I whispered.

He cast the diary in the fireplace and as much as I wanted to reach in and pluck it back out, I didn’t. I dared not move, for whatever had ensnared my husband had already proven itself threatening.

“Blaming everything on the house now, are we?” Arthur asked, but he still wouldn’t look at me.

“No.”

“Perfect, beautiful, fragile Evanelle,” he smirked to himself. “You have everyone so thoroughly ensnared.”

“Let him go,” I begged. “Let him go and you can take me.”

His hand closed around my throat. “I’ll have you alright.” The smile on his face was malicious as I tried to push away from him. “Did you think you wouldn’t be caught? Did you think you’d simply move on.”

I fought for air, squeezing his arm. “Please stop…Arthur, I can’t breathe.”

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!” He mocked. “Your dutiful little stooge. Ready and willing to do whatever it is you ask at the drop of a hat.” My free hand reached blindly behind for anything at all.

“You’re angry,” I wheezed. “And it’s all my fault. Arthur it’s all my fault and I’m so sorry…”

“Yes, do beg. It’s far more amusing.”

I felt a glass paperweight beneath my hand and in one swift motion it connected with his temple until his grip released and he stumbled backward. I skittered to the far end of the drawing table as he tried to regain composure, but I couldn’t give him the time.

I bolted from the room, yanking the door shut behind me to slow him and ran, blindly without any thought at all, toward the attic welcoming me with open arms. I pushed the door shut and locked it, backing up the stairs.

BANG!

I jumped.

BANG!

 _It’s not him_ , I thought.

BANG!

 _Ignotius Blackwater,_ the name manifested in my mind. It was all beginning to make sense

BANG!

I retreated deeper into the attic, already assessing the grave mistake I’d made. I would never make it out.

I looked around the room knowing well I could make service of nothing because there was nothing to make service of. Just the lonely chair in the middle of the room.

From the shadowy corner, a hand emerged in the moonlight and beckoned closer. I could hear the hinges rattle on the door and wondered how much time I had before he’d break through. I retreated to the hand and saw that the wall in the corner bore a door that was well-concealed. One couldn’t possibly spot it if they weren’t looking I crawled into the space and closed the door behind me, listening for what would happen next.

 _You have to go,_ came a whisper.

“I can’t,” I whispered back.

There was a tug at my sleeve pulling me toward the darkness behind. A sharp snap from below spurred me on into the unknown.

I reached out and felt stairs, taking quiet and careful steps into the dark, wondering, worrying how much time I had.

_Go. Run, girl. You must get out. Make haste._

Down, down, down, but I knew not for how long, or where it might open up. The smell grew damp and musty and I was sure if Arthur, too, had found the door, he’d have little trouble finding me.

My arm jerked forward around a corner, down five more steps and another door gave way.

 _The wine cellar._ I closed the door behind me and moved the heaviest object my hand could find in front of it.

The water had all been dried out from before, but I didn’t stop to wonder how or when.

“Where do I go?” I whispered in the darkness.

 _Out,_ the darkness whispered back.

I felt for the stairs and made my way softly to the top, careful not to make a single sound. I pressed an ear to the other side listening for some sign of life beyond it, wondering where Arthur must be.

I opened the door an inch and saw nothing but the dark hall on the other side. I dared to inch it further open, just enough to slip out into the night and silently close the door behind me.

“Hello dear,” my husband greeted me cheerfully with a warm smile and a blow to the head that sent me hurtling into the pitch black unknown.


	25. Part Three

**ALICE**

I should go back to bed, I thought. Enjoy her closeness just a bit longer. It would never happen again and I knew it. I rose from the floor and stretched my neck, wandering out to the hall.

At the end I heard the door creak and looked to find the attic opened up.

I glanced back toward the bedroom and crept on tip toe to check on Evie, who was sound asleep in bed and then made the careful trek to the end of the hall.

I pushed the door aside and found the stairs up ahead. I reached for a chair from the hall to prop the door open to be safe and started up.

The floor was wett in places where the ceiling dripped, but in the center of the room was a wooden chair with a little black book sitting upon it. I fetched it and opened to the first page.

“I write these words knowing death lingers at the door.”

I paged through the entries, surprised by how few there were, until I reached the last.

The truth. Mina Cartwright shone a bright light in all the darkness.

I retreated back downstairs to the library, taking care to pull the attic door shut behind me.

I stoked the fire and pulled the chair up to the table to read it in full.

As I finished I became more convinced than ever that we needed to leave, but how? I worried there’d be no time to waste once day finally broke. Rain or shine, we would go.

I rifled through the desk until I located a map—surely a bit outdated, given the look of it, but the rough idea was enough. The passage through the farmlands beyond the gate seemed to me to be the most likely to cause duress. I could only imagine how muddy they’d been after two weeks of heavy rain. We’d have to leave anything we couldn’t carry behind and send for it later, but that seemed like a small and trifling matter.

Down the hall a door slammed. “Alice? Alice!” I barreled into the hall where the door to my room was shut up tight.

“Evie! I’m right here.”

“Open the door, please open the door!” the knob shook frantically from the other side, and then her crying out stopped. “Alice?” I heard her ask softly. “I think there’s something in here…”

“Stay away from the windows, Evie, I’ll be right back, I promise.” A hundred horrible scenarios unfolded in my head as I raced to the service stairs, slipping down several of them before I caught myself. My eyes lept over the hooks that bore the keys until I found the one I was looking for and hurried back up the stairs.

I could hear her screaming as I fumbled to fit the key in the lock and tried to open it, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Evie, help!”

“ALICE!” Her screams were bloodcurdling.

This wasn’t going to work. “Ignotius Blackwater,” I hissed in the dark. I heard a thump from the other side of the door. “You have my attention, what do you want from us?” I demanded. There was no answer. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US?” I demanded, ready to reckon with whatever hell was next unleashed.

The house went still, but the air hung thick around me, my ears plugged with pressure, but the door opened with a gentle click.

I raced inside and scanned the room, prising the wardrobe open where I found her sobbing and trembling. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me…” she begged, clinging to me tightly.

"I'm not. I'm not leaving, I'm right here," I promised. "What happened?"

She shook her head and fell into hysterics, unable to stop. I tugged the blankets from the bed and urged her on down the stairs. Nothing good could possibly come from the second floor, and after what I'd read, I grew nervous thinking of what might happen if we stayed up there. 

"What do we do?" she asked when she'd finally gotten some semblance of her wits about her.

"We outlast it," I said, but I didn't have a plan for how to do that. I held her close and stroked her hair. 

The house was darker, colder somehow, and something was coming to a head, but I couldn't possibly know what. I just knew the dread in my stomach held tight like a vice and wouldn't let me go.

At least one of us wouldn't make it out alive, I thought—knew. And I would make sure that it was me at any cost. Let her go home to Arthur and have a beautiful life with beautiful things. Let her recover and go on. I had nothing to lose, husband gone, house empty.

I could make my peace, I thought. And here was not so bad a place to die…

A sudden disgust overtook me. To die would be to let it win and I couldn’t settle for that. If it killed me, then so be it, but I would not passively accept this fate. I would fight for myself. I would fight for her, because it must be done.

And then we would undo the place together.

As Evanelle slept, I went over the plans in my head. She’d wake in the morning. We’d have as good a day as we could have. I’d find her a way out and tell her to run. And I would stay behind tofinish it off, because someone must.

No more blood would be spilled on this land.

I said a prayer to Genevieve Blackwater, to Eloise White, Sara Percy, Vanessa Percy, and every woman who’d come undone before me. Working as one, we may just bring Blackwater legacy of bloodshed, horror and chaos to its knees.

From the sitting room, I could still hear the rhythmic thump from the attic—a sound I now knew to be William Percy nudging the chair back on its hind two feet and back.


	26. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

I roused in the dim light of the fire, my sight coming back slowly. I could just make out the study, but little else in the dim glow. My head gave a painful throb and the skin stung where I’d been hit before. I tried to pull my wits about me, but my thoughts moved like tar.

“Awake at last, my love,” I could hear his voice behind me and suddenly the true gravity of the situation emerged. A chill shot down my spine and the word ‘trapped’ flew to mind.

I was bound to a chair, gagged with a handkerchief. I blinked to clear my vision, but everything was doubled and my head swam. Two choices lay before me: fight or die. But I wasn’t sure my mind was even made up yet.

“I know what you must be thinking: ‘Why has he kept me alive?’” The thing wearing my husband’s face pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. “You see, my love, I think I’d like to hear you scream. I’ve heard it before. Such pretty sounds you make.” His hand reached out to touch my cheek and I jerked away from his touch.

“Oh, we are very fiesty aren’t we? Not a pleasing quality in a wife, I must admit. Don’t they raise young ladies to be docile and obedient anymore?” I caught the glint of a blade in the light.

I wrestled with the rope that bound my hands, praying for some kind of flaw in the knot that might expose itself. The tip of the knife caught under my chin.

“I had two daughters, you know. Did the best I could, I promise you. Perhaps I can train you as well. Shall we start with a pretty smile?” The knife pressed into my cheek and I could feel it draw blood. “You are quite sick, but I think we’ll fix you yet.” He pulled the blade cleanly across the flesh of my cheek.A scream shot out of me faster than I could stop it.

“There it is! Tell you what, my love, if you obey, perhaps we’ll make this quick. Though I cannot promise it will be painless. I _am_ going to kill you, after all.” He turned away and I pulled and tugged at the rope, feeling it loosen, but only slightly.

“I wish you could’ve seen your brainless little husband when he returned. All that pain and all that anger. Like an unlocked door, I tell you, and I slipped. Right. In. You have done a number on him, my little love.”

I tried to mumble something through the gag, but couldn’t make it out.

“Speak clearly then,” he pulled the handkerchief out with a gruff jerk.

“You can’t have him,” I said.

“Oh, and I suppose you’ll be the one to stop me?” He laughed. “Your little Alice thought she could do the same, didn’t she? Remember that? I’m sure you do. Such valor in that one, very determined. I loved watching her come undone.”

That made my blood boil. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to say her name.”

“Struck a nerve, have I?” he grinned.

I stared him hard in the eye without so much as another word for a strong moment. “You are weak and a coward. What is it you’re compensating for Ignotius?”

He studied me. “Such a rude little tongue,” he tsked and grabbed my jaw. “Perhaps I’ll cut it out.”

I spat in his eye , buying myself enough time to free my hands and reach for the nearest book to strike him with as hard as I could. He tried to recover and I reached for a brass candlestick, bludgeoning him with it hard enough to make him still, all the while hoping that I hadn’t actually killed him.

I tied his hands and feet and dragged him out to the hall, down the stairs and propped him against the door, testing the hold on his restraints before I went back upstairs. I found the black book from the attic on the table and took it to the fireplace, letting the corner of it catch. I took it to the attic, threw it inside the door, and watched the smoke from beneath the door.

Vanessa Percy’s book was next. I cast it into the room that was mine--into the room that was Alice’s and went back for Eloise’s scrapbook. I dropped it on the stair as I hurried back down, hefted Arthur up onto my shoulder and dragged us both outside to wait.

For what, I wasn’t quite sure.

I watched the flames engulf the house as Arthur roused beside me.

“Evie?” he asked. I dipped a hand into the fountain and drew water across his brow.

“You’re just in time,” I said to him.

“What?” He sat back up as best he could and looked upon the house ablaze against the stars in the dark sky.

The windows on the second floor shattered—a sound almost like screaming shot out and I heard the snapping of the floorboards before the study fell through to the sitting room.

“What did you do?” Arthur asked.

“What I should’ve done before,” I reached down, untied his hands and clasped one of them in mine. “Ended it.”

We watched it burn for an hour before anyone arrived to help. At one point, I thought I saw Alice in the window, waving goodbye.

I pressed my eyes shut, taking in the smell of the smoke and the sea, and the cool night breeze on my face.

I could see Alice running along the beach, calling out to me and smiling like the sun. I could feel her touch on my face and smell the perfume of her hair. I could hear her jubilant laugh, and see the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Evie?” Arthur asked, breaking me from the reverie. “Are you alright?”

I exhaled a shaking breath. “No, but I am alive, and I think that counts for something.”


	27. Part Three

**ALICE**

Night wore on.

I’d gone back upstairs only briefly to gather Evie’s things—what all could fit in a bag—and placed them beside the door. I returned to find her dreaming fitfully and crawled beneath the covers, placing a kiss on her forehead.

It would be a small mercy if she slept through it.

I was restless with the notion that I should put as much distance between us as I could, and with the pang of wanting to be close to her even still.

Eventually I would have to let her go.

“What day is it?” She asked when she finally woke at dawn.

“June eleventh,” I said, a hollow feeling in my chest.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

I hadn’t mentioned the book sitting upstairs in the library. Not what it contained, not what I knew.

Let her have some hope. One of us must.

She propped up on an elbow and craned to see out the window. “Still raining?” She asked with a defeated sigh.

“It might let up. I have a feeling about it,” I said.

Evanelle looked me over, wondering from whence my coldness came. “Are you alright?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said, and kissed her hand, forcing a smile. “What should we do today?” I asked. “We need a nice little distraction.”

She leaned in and kissed me. “I can think of a few things. Where would you like to start?”

We settled for the greenhouse. I played piano from the sitting room while she worked within my sight, coordinating as many flower arrangements as she could find vases for.

We pretended nothing was wrong. We pretended we were not afraid. We pretended none of the events of the previous weeks had happened, especially not last night.

She laughed freely and unguarded. I smiled and soaked it in.

We made a luncheon of pickled things from the pantry and cheeses from the ice box on the floor of the sitting room and reminisced while I meditated on the softness of her hair in my fingers. I was acutely aware of every second, all while trying to make it as normal and natural as I could.

She shouldn’t catch on, couldn’t catch on. It would be far too dangerous if she did.

Somewhere in the afternoon, we came to realize the rain beginning to calm from a downpour to a drizzle.

“That’s promising,” Evanelle smiled, scanning the horizon for signs of an imminent sun. “Tomorrow we will wake to sunshine and someone at the gate come to rescue us, I am sure of it,” she beamed.

“I’m sure you are right,” I smiled.

As darkness approached, she took to reading some little book she’d found on one of the end tables aloud while I returned to the piano. The clouds had begun to thin and a bright moon hung overhead. I felt relief that she might finally be able to leave tomorrow, but I didn’t dare share that with her lest she fuss over it.

When she became tired, I lay next to her in the little nest we’d made.

“We should spend next summer in Paris,” she sighed, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around me.

“Do you think Arthur would agree?”

She smiled. “After how well you’ve taken care of me here? How could he possibly say no.”

“What will we see in Paris?” I asked. Anything to preoccupy her for the final moments we’d share.

“Paris has wonderful exhibitions,” she sighed, trailing on and on about museums and art galleries, and restaurants.”I love you,” she murmured at last, her voice warm with sleep.

“I love you, too,” I kissed her and watched her fall asleep with the slightest trace of a smile on her face.

I looked up at the clock on the mantle and waited a while, stroking her arm and her hair. I dozed for a bit, but only lightly.

The sound of the door in the greenhouse made me stir. I checked the clock once more—right on schedule—and extracted myself from my love’s embrace with a final kiss on the head. I had taken the knife from our lunch spread earlier and stashed it in a flower arrangement—not because I thought it would do anything, but simply because I felt better knowing something like it was close enough to reach should I need it. I fished it out, careful not to make a sound as I crept on through the greenhouse.

Wet prints inked the floor of the greenhouse. I traced them out to the parapet and saw a figure in white on the beach, beckoning. She was the shepherd and I the lamb, but it didn’t seem the time or place for the slaughter…

I followed dutifully until she allowed me to meet her.

She had dark hair, skin pocked at the corners of her mouth with sores, and eyes milky blue. I knew her at once. “Vanessa,” I said. “I need your help.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I am going to give him what he wants, but I need you to help her. I need you to get her out of here in one piece,” I begged.

She turned and inched into the water with a ghostly kind of steady grace.

“Please. She will never make it alone,” I pleaded.

Vanessa turned back to look at me and held out a hand. I stepped into the water, the sudden shock of how cold it was making me gasp. I reached for her, and slipped on a rock.

The knife plunged through my neck with surprising ease and my eyes widened in shock as I watched my blood taint the dark water around me.

Vanessa’s hand stroked my face. _She will be safe,_ I prayed as I breathed the water in. The edges of my vision turned black. _She will be happy, she will be loved, she will be safe._

And then I belonged to the sea, too.


	28. Part Three

**EVANELLE**

I am guilty of many things and have grieved many things, and most often the two overlap.

Not a day passes that I do not think of her. I see her in the mischievous dark eyes of my daughters, Alice and Eleanor. I think of her when I see larkspurs and lavender, or hear the trill of a piano.

She is everywhere and in everything.

Grief is a thing that lives in a box, and once in a while we take it out to re-examine it. It never gets easier to look at, but it becomes familiar to us—known.

Arthur and I returned to the ashes of Blackwater house a year and a half after the June twelfth that had taken Alice. The sticky summer heat and bright sun shone down on the black rocks. The carriage waited at the gate for us the whole time.

The ashen ruin of the once great house of Blackwater was little more than a stain on the scorched earth where it had once stood.

Arthur had gone rounds with father and Nathaniel about selling the land—father thought to sell it while Arthur maintained it was an awful idea, but we dared not speak of anything approaching the truth. We still shuddered at the prospect of someone else coming along to rebuild.

We planted orchids in the overgrown garden for love and fertility, and then we made our way to the shoreline to meditate on what this place had meant—what it could come to mean. We walked along the beach in solitude, neither of us speaking. It had been a tense year of fighting and pain, but the past was finally going to be laid to rest.

He had not fully forgiven me for my adultery, but I thought we might be approaching somewhere near to normal.

“I hate it here,” he said finally.

I nodded. “As do I.”

“If I could burn it to the ground all over again I would.”

“As would I.”

He gave a sigh and took my hand in his. “We should go back,” he said.

“You go on, I’ll be right there,” I said, watching him go.

I turned back to the restless ocean and slipped off my shoes and stockings, gathered my skirts, and stepped into it.

I waded in up to my shoulders and let the rest of myself drop down into the water over my head.

I closed my eyes and let the water pull and push around me, and the whole time I thought only of her, and in an endless string: “ _I love you, I love you, I love you._ ”

I returned to the surface, and for a moment, I thought I saw her in front of me, smiling and radiant, but when I blinked, she was gone.

Sometimes I still see her on that pale morning, lying on the shore with her arms spread wide like she’d spun herself dizzy. Sometimes I can feel the icy chill of her skin in my hands as I tried to shake her back to life. I can still feel what it felt like to pull the knife out from her neck, and I can still hear myself screaming without end with the rush of the waves lapping at her night-dark hair. I hear it in my nightmares often and jolt awake. It’s the sound that will haunt me to my grave.

I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d woken up? I wonder what would’ve happened if they hadn’t arrived for me at the gate—Arthur and the Groundskeeper and later, Dr. Bishop.

I wondered what would happen and to whom on the next June twelfth, and I wondered often if not for Alice, would I have died there too in the inferno?

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. I am not a perfect woman, I have done many things I regret, I have been guilty, selfish, and she loved me still. Faults and all.

I harbored the guilt and wanted to let it kill me—take me down just as the tide had taken her. Now my guilt and I are companions of a sort. There’s a harmony to it now. A balance. I accept that I am responsible for some things and not for others. There was an even darker period where I thought I would let death consume me.

And then my daughter was born and somehow—miraculously, even—the rainstorm broke once again, offering up salvation in its place.

I find myself now waking in the morning with the hope that one day I will become half the person Alice loved and believed me to be. I doubt if I will ever live up to the expectation, but I feel it only right to honor her by stubbornly refusing to give up. There is still good and there is still light.

Even after the darkness, love persists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND AFTERTHOUGHTS
> 
> I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought “Let’s publish an original work of fiction on AO3!” I did it knowing very few people would probably find it, fewer would comment, and it likely wouldn’t get anywhere.
> 
> I wasn’t wrong. But I’m also not sorry I did it.
> 
> I’d like to thank my friends (both the Destroyers and Defenders of the Sleep Agenda) for their love, encouragement, and support while I worked to bring this story to life. I’m not even sure it’s a very good one—after all, none of this was edited before its publication. Friends—especially friends who are writers—are the best cheerleaders and all of you have been a gift to me these past three years. I’m grateful to have worked side by side with a bunch of lovely people while we all work to bring our ideas to life.
> 
> Thank you to my friend, Sapphire, for sending the tiktok that inspired this little journey down the rabbit hole.
> 
> I’d also like to thank anyone who took the time to read this little idea of mine, leave kudos, comment, etc. It means a lot to me that anyone has read this and given it the time of day at all. Thank you for enduring (loving?) my little brain child as much as I have. And my infinite gratitude BECAUSE this is a first draft and those are usually pretty insufferable.
> 
> Phew. Ok.
> 
> Thank you. Good night. Good day. Take care.


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